


Amongst Lions

by Blankfreeze1958



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Beautiful Golden Fools, F/M, Original Character(s), Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-01-03 10:44:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21178121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blankfreeze1958/pseuds/Blankfreeze1958
Summary: An attempt at a more detailed backstory





	1. Thawing

Cersei walked swiftly through the keep and sidled out of the castle doors undetected. It was winter, but she’d chosen to wear a summer dress, olive green and sleeveless and cut up to her ankles. She walked barefoot on the cold cobblestones, her breath a ghost trailing behind her as it left her mouth, the last bit of warmth within her being released into the world, the only part she’d given willingly. The only part that hadn’t been yanked away from her. 

_Take it_. She said to the winter, scornful. _You’ve taken everything else. _

The wind whipped at her golden hair, the braid she wore keeping it from her face.  Her skin was pricked with gooseflesh, and so cold it was nearly blue. 

She did not feel it.  Cersei had decided to stop feeling things. 

Her whole life she’d felt too much, and what good had it brought her?  Over and over she was dismissed, rejected, scorned, _fucked_.  She’d stopped feeling, stopped wanting, stopped caring: it gave her some power back. 

_Take it all. Take everything, and see if I care. _She breathed. She couldn’t tell if she’d said it aloud or in her head. Things like that were getting tricky to parse lately. 

She made her way down the rocky cliffs to the shore of King’s Landing.  It was foggy and the sky was stormier than the bruises she sported on her neck and all up her arms, curtesy of her loving husband. _Her king. _

She smiled; not anything noticeable, just the twitch of her lips as she thought how _funny_ that was. She wished the Seven Kingdoms could see him as he was every night; splayed out on the floor, a half-empty horn of ale next to him and a whore or two in his bed - _their_ bed, she shuddered at that. And that was on the nights he came home. _What a king. _

She hadn’t bothered to cover the bruises today. _Let them see_. 

He’d been incessant lately, Robert, raving about needing an heir. He would fuck her roughly, pressing her head into the pillow so nobody would hear her scream as she fought against him, and she _always_ fought. But he’d failed so far to put a baby in her. She’d made sure of it. 

Cersei laughed to herself as she thought of it; herself curled up by her chamber pot, clutching her stomach, ridding herself of what Robert had done to her. A queen’s job was to provide an heir, a king’s job was to fuck his wife bloody and drink himself into oblivion, apparently. Father must be so disappointed in her failure to serve her dutiful husband. Her life was one cruel joke after another. 

By the time she’d reached the rocky shore, her feet were bloody. She hadn’t felt a thing, and that made her smile a bit, too. 

She walked directly into the sea, the waves crashing around her ankles, soaking the hem of her dress. She smelled the salt and sand and sea, and it reminded her of her childhood home. It had been nice briefly, her childhood. Her life had had its moments, she supposed. Perhaps that was why she was still here. Perhaps it was something else. 

She held her arms out and let the wind rush around her. What was left for her? How long could she go on living this way? She stepped further into the ocean. She pictured it swallowing her up. Would she feel any differently than she did now?  She wondered, if faced with the prospect of death, would she _feel_? Would she feel at all? She’d become quite comfortable with the numbness. She wondered what it would take to break her of it. Then she laughed, thinking that there might be nothing at all.  She laughed and laughed until tears ran down her face for reasons she did not understand, the salt of them joining the salt air around her, her cheeks burning red from the cold wind. 

She turned around to look at her wing of the castle, _the keep_, true to its name. But she stopped in her tracks as she spun around.  Her throat went dry and the laughter was choked out of her.  She looked upon the bluffs and saw _him_, standing there in his armour, his hair matted but golden as ever, golden as hers. _J__aime. _And again, she was unsure if she’d actually said it aloud. 

Suddenly, she found herself wincing. Her feet rather _hurt_. 


	2. Melting

Cersei stood stock-still as Jaime climbed down the cliffs and made his way toward her. He’d didn’t expect her to come to him, he never did. 

As he came closer, Cersei frantically worked the laces of her dress closed so her bruises would be hidden away. 

Jaime stopped at the line of the water, smiling softly, worry in his eyes. 

“Hello, sister.”

It had been ages since they’d last seen each other, at least a full year. Jaime had been away, putting down the last of a few rebellions as per Robert's orders. _Simple work, _he’d assured her when he left.  She could see from the dents and scratches in his armour that that hadn’t been entirely true. 

He held out a hand to her. 

She waited, looking at it for a moment before taking it. It didn’t seem real.

He pulled her toward him, forcing her from the icy water. 

“Come here.” Jaime spoke softly, calmly. He wanted to scold her for being out in the cold, being barefoot on the sharp rocks, but refrained. He was sure she felt stifled enough as it were, and she obviously knew that it was _cold_. 

Besides, he knew better than to question his sister. Instead, Jaime wrapped her in his arms, trying his best to warm her. He ran his hands over her back and pressed his cheek to hers. She pressed back. 

They had to be careful here, unsure of who might see them. 

“Your feet.” Jaime whispered when he saw the blood on the sand. “Cersei…” 

She looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with tears. 

He resisted the overwhelming urge to kiss her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, her cheeks rosy red, along with the tip of her nose and her full lips. 

“Come here.” He said again, leading her slowly toward the cliffs until the castle overhead was out of sight. 

He lifted her into his arms as soon as he could and carried her over to a large rock, setting her down gently and kneeling before her. 

She could tell he was eyeing the bruises on her arms that she could not manage to cover.

“It’s nothing.” She managed to choke out.

Jaime set his jaw and asked her, “Robert?”

He’d known Robert’s patience with her was wearing thin.

She shook her head. "I nearly fell the other day, a guard caught me by the arm.”

Jaime looked at her skeptically. 

Cersei sighed. “Jaime, my feet hurt.”

Jaime looked down and lifted her foot by the heel, holding it up so he could have a better look. The cuts were not deep. He lifted the other and examined it as well, reaching the same conclusion. He'd dealt with injuries of the like while he was away. He could take care of her. 

He kissed her on her foot. It hurt him to see her hurt. 

“We can bandage them.” He told her, softly. 

She nodded, satisfied. 

“Sister.” He leaned forward and turned his head, resting his cheek against her lap, his arms circling her waist and holding her tightly. 

He felt guilty for leaving her. She was obviously unhappy. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

He felt her hands in his hair and he became suddenly aware of how filthy he still was. He hadn’t bathed in a fortnight. He was surprised Cersei had not said anything yet.

He couldn’t help but close his eyes as she trailed her fingers along his scalp. He’d missed her so very much. 

“You’re a bit worse for wear, brother.” 

He smiled, his eyes still closed, as she said it. There it was. 

He turned his head and kissed her thigh before pulling himself up to her. He was between her legs now, his thighs braced against the rock for balance as he took her face in his hands. 

He nuzzled her nose and breathed in the smell of lavender mixed with the salt air before kissing her as deeply as he could.

Cersei could feel herself becoming aroused, and she realized it that was the first time she'd felt _that _since Jaime had left. 

She opened her mouth for him, allowing him deeper as she gripped his sides, pulling him closer, wanting to feel him between her legs. 

Jaime smiled as he kissed her, he wanted the same.

He trailed one hand up her thigh, thumb brushing her center and making her gasp.  Emboldened, he kept his thumb there, drawing circles over the fabric, wishing he could tear it away and see all of her.  She moaned into his mouth and rolled her hips against his hand. 

"Cersei." Jaime's voice was shaking. "I can't... If - I - I ... it's too..." Jaime sputtered and felt like a complete fool.

He was trying to tell her that this was too much for him. He needed her _now_, and he knew that couldn't happen here. He couldn’t be discreet, not when he felt this way.

Cersei stilled him, pressing her palm flat against the hard armour still covering his chest.

Jaime pulled back wincing when he caught sight of her shivering. 

He ran a finger over her cheek.

“Let’s go inside.” He said and she nodded. 

He helped her up and she leaned on him as they made their way back up the crag toward the keep. 

Jaime took Cersei to his chambers, a bit more secluded, deeper in the bowels of the castle. 

“How are you?” She asked as she leaned on him, trying her best to stay off her feet. 

Jaime nodded. “I’m well, and you?” 

It felt perfunctory, and neither of them liked it. 

Cersei inhaled deeply. “As well as one could hope.” She said on the exhale. 

Jaime nodded, knowing it wasn’t true. 

As soon as he’d closed the door to his chambers, he’d lifted her into his arms again.

“Here.” He said, carrying her through a narrow doorway and into his washroom. 

He set her down by an already steaming tub. 

“Jaime, I think you need this far more than I.” She said, smirking. 

She watched as he shed his armour expertly, letting each piece fall to the floor with a clank. He wore a dirty white cotton shirt beneath, stained with sweat and mud, open at the chest. 

Cersei longed for him to shed that as well. 

Her breath hitched as Jaime moved around her and hugged her from behind, wrapping his arms about her waist and pressing his lips to her neck. 

“I thought perhaps we could share.” He said against her, sucking on her skin gently. 

Cersei sighed. It had been so long since she’d felt him against her, felt his lips caressing her skin. She longed for him, and yet, they could never be. 

She’d been doing well enough without him.  She’d stopped feeling altogether. It had been what she’d wanted. It was _helping_. And yet, here Jaime was suddenly, and she was hurting all over again. Sure, it was only her feet this time, just a few scrapes and some cold flesh, but she knew she would start to feel more. Next time Robert hit her, next time he fucked her, next time she was told _no, _or was talked down to because she was a woman, next time her father scolded her and made her feel like a little girl again, next time she was forced to choke down moon tea, or next time Jaime left her all alone to deal with everything, she would _feel _it, and all the times in between she would feel the emptiness. How trapped she was. A lion in a cage. That was terrifying to think about. 

And she was perhaps a bit mad at Jaime for leaving her, for being _able_ to leave. It was difficult to tell when she was trying so hard not to feel anything at all, but she thought there was a tinge of anger lurking under her hard exterior.

Cersei watched as Jaime’s hands worked their way up her arms, brushing across her chest to the laces of her dress, beginning to pull at them. She remembered her bruises and pushed his hands away. Jaime couldn’t know. 

“We can’t.” She said, trying her best to sound sure of herself. 

“We can.” He whispered, smoothing his hands over her hips. _Gods, he’d missed her body._

“It’s just us.” He said softly, nuzzling her neck once more. 

She tilted her head to the side, giving him better access without even realizing she was doing it. Her body just _wanted_ him. She shivered as she felt the roughness of his unshaven beard against her. 

“I just… not now, Jaime.” She said, snapping herself out of it. She pushed him away. 

He conceded.  He did not want to upset her more. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through with Robert and his quest for an heir. 

“Let's take care of your feet for now, then." He said gently. His usual arrogance had yet to make an appearance and Cersei wondered about it. 

Jaime sat on one side of the tub, and Cersei on the other.

He’d rolled up his breeches and she’d lifted her gown up to her mid thighs to keep dry. Jaime couldn’t help staring at his sister.

He leaned down into the water and washed her feet for her, being as gentle as he could. 

Cersei winced with each handful of water he doused her feet with. It stung. _Why did it sting? _

She reached out and gripped his shoulder when it became too much.  Jaime looked up at her, green eyes searching for their mates. 

“I’m sorry.” He soothed, when he’d met her eyes, seeing the pain in them. 

He set the foot he was working on down into the warm water.  Cersei grasped his shirt at his shoulders with both her hands now. 

“Cersei.” He sighed. 

He watched her lip quiver and she whimpered. 

“Shh.” He whispered. Her hands were shaking against him. 

“What do you need?” He asked, his eyes searching her face for the smallest indication that she wanted him. That was all _he_ needed. 

“Tell me.” He said lowly, aroused by the way she was looking at him. 

She shut her eyes tightly. 

“Sister.” He breathed, leaning forward and running his hands up her thighs to the hem of her dress. 

She felt a burning inside of herself that she was no longer accustomed to. Jaime had been gone so long she’d forgotten what it felt like to need him in the way that she did now. 

She pulled him forward and he moved with her, his body pliable to her will the way it had always been. 

He braced his hands on either side of her on the edge of the tub as he leaned into her.  She pulled him down to her lips, and they crashed together as they'd done a thousand times before.  Jaime nearly lost his balance and slipped causing Cersei to laugh against him, breaking the tension for a moment, for which she was grateful. 

They kissed slowly for a while. Jaime ran his tongue gently across hers.

She grasped a fistful of his hair as he worked his way down to her neck, nipping her and sucking at her skin until she moaned again. 

Jaime was breathing hard, his desire for her evident as he strained against his breeches.  Cersei's hand fell to him, touching him there and he gasped at it, just the caress of her fingers over the fabric. It had been so _so _long since she'd touched him. He'd dreamt of it every night he was away. 

"Cersei, I -" he tried to tell her how much he'd missed her, how much he desired her, how beautiful she was, but Cersei never gave him the chance. She pulled him against her roughly, clutching the back of his shirt and kissing him deeply. 

Then she pressed him back and he held her, trying to balance them, but he became so caught up in her that he stopped caring. Jaime fell to his knees, unable to focus on keeping his balance and kissing her at the same time. She demanded _all_ of him. He held her face in his hands and craned his neck so that their lips never parted while he plunged into the water. Cersei followed closely behind him, still longing to feel him between her legs. She pushed him onto his back and straddled him, sending water sloshing out onto the stone floor. 

They worked to free Jaime from his breeches first. It was almost like muscle memory to Cersei, and when she finally wrapped her hand around his manhood, he moaned deeply into her mouth. 

Jaime bucked into her hand, the warmth of the water combined with the way she held him was almost too good to be real.

Jaime moaned again when she leaned down and kissed him.  He ran his hand up the back of her leg, smoothing it over her ass, squeezing her there so she kissed him harder, the tips of her hair dipping into the water.  Jaime reached up and held her face in his hands and they stared at each other for a moment, each of them dripping with want in more ways than one. 

He ran a hand down her neck to the laces she'd tied tightly to cover her bruises.  He fingered the ends, pulling gently but Cersei pressed her hand over his, stopping him and shaking her head. 

"Not yet." She whispered.

He watched her, his mouth ajar as she moved herself up over his hips and sank down on him.  The feeling made Jaime moan loudly, slapping his arms down into the water to hold her thighs. 

"Cersei." He groaned as she rolled her hips over him.

She leaned forward, resting against his chest, his cotton shirt billowing under the water. 

They kissed as she rode him, both of them moaning. It was a feeling Jaime had been pining for he'd left, and Cersei had been trying her best to numb from her memory; the feeling of being _whole._

Jaime could take it no longer, he wanted to feel her skin, see all of her, kiss her all over and worship her the way he'd dreamt of for so long now.  He pulled at the laces of her dress but she slapped his hand away, pressing her hands to his shoulders and setting all her weight against him.  She kissed him fervently, moving faster until she felt him quivering beneath her.

"Please Cersei." Jaime begged. "Let me see you."

Cersei enjoyed the power she held over him. It had been so long since she'd felt any sort of sovereignty, despite being the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. She scoffed at that phrase, and thought if it were true then she had endless pity for all the other women in the kingdoms.

Cersei shook her head. "Not here. not yet, Jaime."

Jaime grunted, frustrated as he thrust his hips up to meet hers. He was going to come. She knew it.  He shut his eyes tightly and tried his best to focus. He wanted this to last forever. And because he knew that was impossible, he was happy to settle for at least a bit longer. 

But then he felt Cersei nibbling on his ear. 

"Come inside me, Jaime." 

Jaime whimpered, she was making it too easy. It was the power she'd longed for. 

She kissed him softly. 

Jaime let his hand fall underwater. 

He fought his way through the fabric of her dress and smallclothes and pressed his fingers to her clit. 

She inhaled sharply and fell against his chest, moaning his name.

He moved his fingers faster until she was gasping for air and moaning into his mouth to keep herself from being too loud. 

"Jaime." She pleaded, grasping his shirt. 

She pulled back to look at him and he nodded.

It was ok. 

It was Jaime. 

She let herself fall over the edge, pleasure thrumming through each vein in her body, each capillary, it seemed; every nerve inside of her _burning_ for him.

She tossed her head back and he pressed himself forward, sitting up, his torso out of the water, white cotton plastered to his chest, so he could hold her. He was so desperate for her. 

He pulled her face against his, kissing her as he came, shaking and gasping, clinging to his other half with everything that he had. 

His name was on her lips over and over as he came back down and she clung to him, still shaking. He'd forced her feel more in the past hour than she'd felt in the whole year he was away, and he'd done it without even trying; without even knowing. 

Jaime collapsed back against the wall of the bathtub, clutching Cersei tightly and bringing her with him.  Neither of them spoke, they were each still panting hard, trying to process all the emotions that had come flooding back in an instant. 

They flinched when there was a sharp knock on the door.

"Home for an hour and you haven't come to see me, brother!? I'm positively offended!"

Cersei jolted up, water splashing about, and Jaime tensed as they both recognized the voice.

_Tyrion._


	3. Fuming

“Just a moment, Tyrion!” Jaime yelled as Cersei scrambled out of the bathtub, Jaime’s arms out to catch her in case she slipped.

She looked around and quickly settled on the large wardrobe in the corner of the room.  She crawled inside and Jaime shut the door behind her, grabbing a towel for himself before he did so.  He quickly rid himself of his shirt and wrapped the towel around his waist before Tyrion came storming into the washroom. 

“Brother!” Tyrion laughed when he saw Jaime. He held his arms out and Jaime lowered himself into his brother’s embrace. 

“How are you?” Tyrion slapped his older brother’s back. “You look utterly _atrocious_, are you sure you know how to take a bath?”

Jaime shrugged sheepishly.

“You _must _tell me about Red Lake! I heard they put up quite the resistance. And the women there! Red eyes, red nipples, the real natives at least, that’s what I’ve heard. Is it true?”

Jaime shook his head. 

“Tyrion I’d love to tell you all about it... I uh… would it be possible to speak again at dinner? I’m just ... rather tired from the ride.” 

“Mhm, I’m sure you are.” Tyrion said knowingly and Cersei felt her heart beating in her throat as she crouched in the darkness in her sopping wet dress.

“_Riding _can quite tiring.” 

Tyrion let his eyes fall momentarily to the tiny splotches of fresh blood on the floor leading to the wardrobe. Jaime did not notice. Tyrion had put two and two together long ago. He didn’t think about it often, and when he did he mostly found it comical. 

Jaime laughed it off, scratching his head nonchalantly. 

“Well, I do hope your horse is well enough after that ride. Rocks can be tough on the feet.” Tyrion cleared his throat, “hooves, I should say.” 

Jaime shut his eyes, wanting more than anything for this to be over.  Cersei hung her head in the darkness, mortified. 

“I ride a stallion, not a mare.” Jaime clarified, not sure who he was trying to fool at this point.

Tyrion laughed. “Yes, you certainly do.” 

Cersei sighed, her hands brushing the hair out of her face. Surely this was not happening.

“Well, I’ll be on my way then.” Tyrion said, clapping his brother reassuringly on the shoulder. “Dinner, then?”

Jaime nodded.

Tyrion spun around and sauntered out of the washroom. 

“Not too many carrots for that stallion of yours!” He shouted from the bedchamber. “I hear they can get become rather _adulterated _in that case!” Tyrion shut the door loudly behind him, chuckling as he left. 

Jaime exhaled deeply as Cersei climbed out of the wardrobe.

“I ride a stallion.” She mocked in a deep voice, picking the hem of her dress up and wringing some of the water out of it. 

“He doesn’t know anything.” Jaime tried to reassure her. 

Cersei scoffed. “Surely you’re not foolish enough to believed that.”

“If he did, he would have said something to me by now.” Jaime reasoned.

“He’s smarter than he looks, Jaime. The little urchin’s just waiting for the right time to hold it over my head.”

Cersei was fuming now, furious about Tyrion, and furious that Jaime had been home for all but two hours and she’d felt the gamut of human emotion. 

“It’s alright.” Jaime said. “It’s just Tyrion.”

“_Just_ Tyrion?” Cersei laughed. “You really have no idea what it’s been like here, Jaime.” 

Cersei left swiftly, her feet still bloody. She cared not as she left his chambers with a fury, marching back to the keep for dry clothes. 

Jaime called after her, unable to chase her down in only his towel. She ignored him. 

That night, Cersei lay in bed as Robert snored next to her. She was thinking about Jaime.

She was grateful that he was back, relieved that he was unharmed. S he was furious at him for reasons she didn’t fully understand, and she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. 

It didn’t help that they’d had sex that afternoon, it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. Cersei hadn’t felt anything akin to that hunger in all the time he was away, and she knew that she could feel so much _better. _She wanted Jaime to touch her, all of her. She wanted him to strip every last stitch of bloody embroidery off of her. She wanted him to suck and bite at her nipples until they ached, until she was so wet she could feel the arousal dripping from her cunt. And then she wanted him to touch her. _Tease_ her. She wanted him to make her squirm. 

And she wanted to do the same to him. 

She wanted to push him down and slap him until he was hard and dripping and _begging_ for release and then she would straddle his face and he would make her come over and over against his mouth until he was bucking his hips into the air, pleading for some bit of friction. And in her time, when she was satisfied with his begging, she’d lower herself upon him, allowing him to press into her. 

She’d felt that much today, his manhood inside of her. That was something she’d not forgotten about; the way he felt inside of her - divine beyond words. 

She’d tease him like that, too, allowing only the very tip of him inside of her. She loved how wet that made him. She loved the sounds it elicited from him, the rasp in his voice as he implored her. 

And after everything, she wanted him to hold her. She wanted time for them, just the two of them. She wanted to feel safe again, wrapped up in his arms, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.  She wanted him to stroke her hair and her back and everything else.  And she wanted to fall asleep with him there, curled around her. Maybe then she would feel at ease. 

She sighed as Robert twitched in his sleep. S he’d have to wait for her bruises to heal. Jaime couldn’t know about Robert. He couldn’t.

She remembered what he'd said to her about Robert hurting her on the day of her wedding. Gods, what an affair that had been… quite literally.

They'd been in her dressing chamber, the wedding mere hours away. 

"I love you." He whispered to her, nuzzling her cheek. _More than he ever will_, he wanted to say, but he refrained. 

He kissed her slowly instead, and she brought her hand to his cheek. 

"Don't leave me." He whispered, not above begging.

"Jaime." She sighed. "I'm not."

"You're marrying another man.”

“It’s a sash around my wrist, Jaime, the changing of some banners, some words scribbled on a piece of paper in some ancient tome. 

“It’s not just that.” Jaime said. It wasn’t. Not to him. 

Cersei looked down at the floor, her thick lashes shrouding the bright green of her eyes. She knew he was right.

Jaime tried his best not to think of her with another man. He tried not to think of her with _him._

He wanted to be the one she curled up with every night. He wanted to be the one to carry her to bed, to make her tremble and moan. He wanted her to cling to him as she’d done in the past. He wanted her to _need _him as he needed her. 

“We could run.” He told her. “Take some gold, a boat, and sail to Essos, just you and I.” He’d planned it all out in his dreams. In his head, they already had a house on the shores of Pentos. 

Cersei laughed cruelly. 

“Father would have us caught and strung up by our toes the moment we set off.”

She’d meant to hurt him, to make him feel stupid, the way she'd said it, but instead it showed that she’d entertained the possibility. That was all he’d needed from her. 

He kissed her again, roughly, this time, taking all that he could from her. 

“Dance with me, then.” He said. “And think of me tonight when you’re dancing with him.”

She looked up at him, and he half expected her to roll her eyes, but she didn’t. She offered him a quick nod, her assent. 

He pulled her closer, her hand already in his, and he began to lead. 

They danced to the sound of their heartbeats, both hammering in their chest, keeping beat with the rhythmic thrumming. It was all they needed.

They danced slowly, and she let him move her. 

He worked her up against a wall and pinned her there, kissing her once more and then hugging her close, feeling her body against his. 

Jaime pressed his lips to her ear. 

“He’s going to be your _husband._” He said, trying not to shudder at the idea. 

“He’s going to take you to bed and _fuck_ you with the intention of putting an heir in you."

Cersei swallowed hard and Jaime raised his eyebrows. 

"Do you want him to fuck you like that?”

He needed her to tell him that she didn’t want Robert. Either that or that she did. She needed to tell him one way or another so that he could act accordingly. He would not force himself on her.

She shook her head no and looked up at him, staring him directly in the eye. She didn’t tell her brother that she didn’t particularly _mind_ the idea of it. Not at that point in time, anyway.

“Do you want _me_ to fuck you like that?” He asked after working up the courage. 

She nodded, still staring at him, biting her lip at the thought. 

"Mh." Jaime groaned. 

He ran his hand down her neck and over her chest, pulling at her neckline, stretching it until he could see her breasts and then laying his palm flat on her chest, sliding it up to the base of her neck. 

He sighed deeply. 

“I would, Cersei.” He said. “I would, every night and every morning. Whenever you would have me.”

Cersei nodded, her eyes growing dark with desire.  
Jaime gripped her sides now, running his hands down over her hips and then back up.

“We can’t, Jaime.” 

He nodded. “I know.”

Cersei thought of what it would feel like to have her brother’s seed inside of her. She’d felt it almost everywhere else on her body; soft as silk, sticky, thick, warm. Sometimes it felt different than others, but however it felt on her skin, she wanted to know what it would be like _inside_ of her. 

She nodded, mostly for herself, agreeing with her previous statement, and the two of them simply stared at each other for a beat before crashing their lips together, grabbing wildly at the other. 

Jaime pulled at his sister’s hair, dragging her head back until he could kiss her neck, down to her chest. He ripped at the seams of her wedding dress, uncaring of the intricate needlework that had gone into it. He wanted _her_. That was all he could focus on. But more deeply than that, he wanted her as his own. As his _wife_. He could hardy stomach the idea of Boratheon bedding his most perfect half. He wouldn’t treat her the way she deserved to be treated. He wouldn’t know how to touch her in the ways that Jaime did. He did not know if he liked this fact or not. 

He’d fucked her like they were husband and wife that night. He’d laid her down and spread her legs and held her face, whispering all sorts of lovey things to her while he peppered her with kisses.

He promised that he would never leave her, he promised that he would always take care of her.

When he came inside of her it warmed her from the inside out. The feeling alone made her come again, clenching her thighs together, trying her best to keep him inside of her for as long as she could. 

Then, he promised then that he would _kill_ Robert if he ever hurt her. 

“What’s another king?” He’d said. “I’d rather die than watch him hurt you.”

So no, Jaime could not know that Robert was hurting her, because he _would_ die. And if that were the case then so would she. And she was beginning to think that maybe she wasn't ready for that just yet.


	4. Extinguished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be mindful that this chapter deals with rape.

It had been a fortnight since Jaime had arrived back in King’s Landing, and Cersei had mostly been avoiding him.  Jaime was becoming frustrated. Not only did he long for her, he felt waves of jealous rage whenever he would see her with Robert. He knew Robert’s main objective was to put an heir in her, and it was painful to think that she was _with_ Robert in that way while actively _not_ that way with him. 

On one evening, at a semi-formal dinner with several members of the small council, Robert, his plate piled high with bread and fish, and his belly far too full with ale, grabbed Cersei at her breast as she was taking her place next to him. 

She yelped in such a way that the entire hall went silent. 

Jaime shot up, his heavy wooden seat toppling over, drawing all eyes to him instead. 

“Sit down, Lannister.” Robert laughed, easing the tension in the room. Jaime was furious. He looked to his sister, but she’d largely ignored it. She took her place silently. 

“And who said lions can’t be tamed!” Robert japed, his voice echoing through the hall. 

Jaime opened his mouth, ready to tell the arrogant slob off, but he caught a glimpse of his sister, her eyes boring into him now, imploring him to sit back down. 

_Yes, my queen._

He hung his head as several attendees snickered at the ordeal. 

He waited until after dinner to catch his sister in the hallways before she retired to her room for the night. 

“Sister.” He called to her. She turned involuntarily toward the sound of his voice. 

“You look lovely tonight.” He said. 

She bowed her head. 

“And you look dashing, Ser.” She said back, her finishing lessons from their school days shining through.

She was _queen. _She’d been his queen since before he could remember, but she was queen of the Seven Kingdoms now, and Jaime would see to it that she was treated as such. 

“He cannot touch you that way.” Jaime said, his eyes darting from hers to her lips and then back up. 

He reached for her hand but she pulled it away from him. 

“The _King_ can touch me any way he likes” She muttered, knowing it would set her brother off. 

Jaime set his jaw. “And how does he touch you?” He asked, brusquely.

She did not answer. 

“And what of me?” He asked, dejected. 

“You’re my brother.” Cersei sighed. “You shouldn’t touch me at all.”

“But you want me to.” He said, surely. There was a glimmer of the arrogance she’d been wondering about.

Cersei couldn’t help the tinge of a smile at her lips. 

“I miss you.” He said, under his breath. 

She gave him a look. They could not talk about this here. 

“I’ve barely seen you.” He said, all but whining. 

She stared at him. She missed him as well, she truly did. She desired him, burned for him, thought of him every night as she lay in bed. 

“Will you come see me?” He asked. “Tonight?”

Cersei hesitated for a moment. She wanted to say _yes, yes, yes, please take me away from here, _but she couldn’t.

“Tyrion knows about us.” She said. “_This”, _she hissed, waving at the space between them, “is not safe.”

Jaime cocked his head and clicked his tongue. “It’s never been safe, sister.” He said, smiling slightly, “Perhaps that’s what makes it so fun.”

Cersei rolled her eyes. 

“This isn’t a game, Jaime.” A part of her felt a bit insecure. Perhaps he did view it as a game. 

He shook his head. “No.” He whispered. “It’s not.”

He reached out and ran his thumb over the curve of her hip, feeling it under the snug fabric of her dress. How he longed to free her from it. 

She looked up at him and he had to look away, feeling a desire he was unsure how to quell. 

“Tyrion won’t breathe a word of it.” He assured her, looking back at her carefully. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

Cersei gave a single nod, unsure what to think for the time. It had obviously not been news to Tyrion. He’d known for some time and had said nothing. And truthfully, she’d known that he’d known. She was looking for excuses to stay away from her brother, her lover.

“Please, Cersei.” He was more serious than she’d ever seen him.

“Perhaps.” She answered, before turning and walking away. 

Jaime watched her, hungry for her, as she left.

That night, she lay in bed, glad to have a moment of peace until her mind wandered away from her. It brought her to thoughts of Jaime, as it so often did. Was he waiting for her? Was he thinking of her? She thought it likely the way he’d been talking earlier.

He did look well. He’d cleaned himself up now that he’d had the time. He looked strong, stronger than he’d looked when he’d left, and he’d looked strong then, too. 

Cersei longed to be with him again— properly. 

Her bruises had faded almost completely. She _could_ leave now and go to him. 

She was contemplating the action when Robert barged in, drunk still, but less so. 

“My queen.” He mocked her.

How she hated that she’d once felt for him. 

He made his way over to the bed, falling on top of her.  She tried to push him off, but it was no use.  Robert worked her nightdress up her thighs and pulled his member from his pants, stroking it furiously between them before pushing it inside of her, groaning.  She bit her lip at the pain of it, but would not give him the satisfaction of hearing the whimper that was trapped inside her throat, nor the feeling of her nails scratching at his back. 

Robert smelled of fish and ale and it made Cersei feel ill. 

It didn’t last long. If there was anything to thank the gods for it was that. 

Robert thrust into her but a handful of times before spilling his seed. And though but a handful of times, it was still enough to force all the air from her lungs and the very spirit of her from her body. 

As he rolled off of her and over to his side of the bed, Cersei lay there, stunned, Robert’s seed leaking from between her legs. It was _vile_. And she felt _vile._

Tears fell from her unblinking eyes, tears she had no perception of. 

She wasn’t sure how to move. 

Robert snored next to her now. 

She waited until she could breathe again before standing on shaking legs.

She moved swiftly to the washroom and scrubbed herself raw, eliminating every last trace of him. She pulled her knees up to her chest as she sat in the bathtub and sobbed, imagining it were her twin’s arms wrapped around her instead of her own. They were the same, weren’t they? He would understand,_ wouldn’t he?_

Cersei was _embarrassed. _She was a lion made prey, and by the likes of a _stag_. 

She hurt inside in a great many ways and she knew of only one thing that had ever made it better; only one thing could ever truly ease her pain.

In her silken robe she wove her way through the convoluted passages of the castle to her brother’s chambers. 

She didn’t bother to knock; it was far too late. She'd expected him to be asleep, but when she entered he was sitting up in bed, his room lit only by the light of two candles at his bedside as he read his book on strategy. 

He almost didn’t believe it when he saw her slip inside. He hadn’t gotten his hopes up. 

But when she came closer and he saw her eyes, his heart shattered. Her beautiful pools of emerald green were red and puffy as she shook weakly before him.

Jaime reached for her, abandoning his book with a thud as it fell to the floor, his page lost. 

“I just want to lay with you.” Cersei said in a whisper. 

Jaime nodded, still reaching for her. His heart was in his throat, pounding. 

She ignored his outstretched arms, opting to walk around to the other side of his bed and settle down gingerly on her side, facing away from him. 

Jaime watched her, watched the way she breathed; how feeble and uneven the rise and fall of her belly was. He’d seen that type of breathing on the battlefield. It was the breathing of a man grievously wounded. 

Jaime felt his own breathing become uneven then, for the very strongest part of _himself_ was lain before him there, vulnerable, fragile and raw. She asked not for his body, not for his words, only for his presence.

It was too difficult for him not to offer more. 

He lay next to her, his body inches from hers, mimicking her position; on his side, his knees bent slightly. 

He placed his hand on her back gently, palm open. She jumped at first but quickly relaxed as he moved it across her lightly. He rested his hand on her hip for a moment, while he pressed himself to her, closing the space between them. His free hand wormed its way under her neck, his wrapping around her and gripping her shoulder. He pressed his lips to her ear, just holding them there, just to feel the warmth of her skin on his. 

“I just want to lay here, Jaime.” She whispered, telling him again, though she hadn’t needed to. She’d never needed to.

Yet, he nodded against her, whispering simply, “I know.” And pressing the sweetest brush of a kiss to her ear. 

Cersei shut her eyes tightly, feeling the burning in her throat and fighting it until she could bare it no longer and she let out a sob. 

Jaime’s arms immediately drew tighter around her, and she couldn’t help it now. She’d been pushed over the edge.  She fell apart, sob after sob, she shook and wiped at her beautiful face as Jaime did his part to soothe her, to kiss away her tears. 

She turned in his arms and pressed her face into his chest, muffling her cries as she felt his hand trailing gently across her back, his arms warm and held fast around her, his lips soft against her forehead. She was safe here, if only for the time being. Jaime would keep her safe, always. 

He stroked her hair now, not asking for an explanation, not searching for one, not judging her or asking anything of her; not even asking that she stop crying. He was simply _there, _as she needed him to be, as he’d always been.


	5. Embers

Jaime held his sister late into the night. 

She fell asleep while he was stroking her hair, her face still pressed against his chest.  Jaime could feel her tears soaking his shirt.  He pressed her forward slowly, lowering her head onto a pillow.  Her face was wet with tears, her eyelashes thick and saturated. He kissed her cheek gently before pulling the blanket up and over her, settling there next to her and blowing out the candles. All he ever cared about was giving her what she needed.

Cersei awoke a some hours later to the pitch darkness. She sat up in bed, opening her eyes wide, trying to see in the inky black. 

“Jaime?” She called softly. 

He responded as though he’d been waiting for her, “I’m here.”

He hadn’t exactly been _waiting_, but he could not fall asleep. He could not stop thinking of all the ways he would kill Robert.  Cersei whimpered and Jaime sat up in bed, pulling her back against him. She hugged him and he held on tightly.

“Robert…” She said softly, as though she were going to tell him something of great import. “I think…” But she trailed off, went silent. 

Their eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness by now, and they could make each other out by the light of the moon.

“Tell me.” He said, desperately kissing a tear away before it even had time to move down her cheek.  “I’ll fix it.” He was sure he could. 

He rolled on top of her, his full weight on her as though he were trying to press the hurt out of her.  He wiped away her tears as best he could. It pained him to see tears on her beautiful cheeks.  He wished it could be as simple as it were when they were children. He wished he could whisper something droll in her ear and make it better; make her smile.  He used to be good at that - making her smile. But it only got harder as they grew older and he saw his sister hurt over and over. She only felt farther away from him. He longed for her closeness. 

When he held her in his arms and she clung to him, it was not out of desire as it has once been, it was out of despair. He was the only one keeping her grounded in this world, and he was glad to do that for her, but he longed for those nights where they would have each other over and over, feeling more like one body than two.

These nights she cried. It was the only time she _could_ cry and Jaime understood that. He felt a deep honour in her trusting him to see this side of her.  Her face was in his hands and cradled her there gently, as though she were made of glass, his thumbs caressing her cheeks just below her eyes. 

“What is it?” He asked. 

She was breathing shakily now.  “I think I need…”  She couldn’t finish her sentence without her voice breaking, another heart shattering whimper interrupting her. 

“I’ll give you whatever you need.” He swore it.

Cersei shook her head, her hands closing around his wrists and pushing them from her face. 

“I think I need to give him a child.” She said in a voice so quiet Jaime was unsure he’d even heard her correctly. He stared at her, processing what he thought he’d heard her say.  Cersei looked away, unwilling to see the full extent of the pain in her twin’s eyes. 

Jaime swallowed hard.  “Cersei.” He said evenly, trying his best to remain calm. “Sister.”

Cersei waited. 

“I am going to murder him.” Jaime said it cooly, as though it were nothing. As though it were already fact, like the sun in the sky or the waves in the sea.

“No.” Cersei choked out, and Jaime could hardly stand it, seeing her that way. 

“It will be easy.” He whispered to her, trying to comfort her, stroking her hair back from her forehead.

“They’ll kill you, you fool.” She said, wiping at her eyes.

Jaime nodded. “They’ll try. It will be worth it.”

Cersei pushed at Jaime’s chest until he moved off of her. She pressed him down onto his back so that she was the one over him.

“If you want me, Jaime, you’ll do as I say.”

Jaime watched her, her palms pressing hard on his chest.  _She’s stronger than she looks. _ He reached up, holding her at the curve of her waist before it broadened into her hips.

“Jaime, I need you.” She said, knowing that he would do anything for her. He’d jump at the chance to serve her. 

Jaime swallowed hard, his hand running up her spine and clasping around the back of her neck, massaging her there. 

“What would you have me do?” He asked in a whisper. 

Cersei leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together and kissing her brother softly, lengthily, on the lips. 

“I’ll not have you kill him.” She said through gritted teeth. “He’s my _husband_.”

Jaime winced at that word. That bloody word. 

It wasn’t that she wholly _loathed_ the stag; he had his qualities. He was rather handsome, though he’d put on some weight recently - A great warrior… though he didn’t much battle anymore.  Cersei often blamed herself for his mistreatments. She was difficult, that she knew. But he'd started the cycle of scorn and rage and violence when he’d called her… _that _name. _Her _name. Perhaps if she gave him a child… a _chance..._

She saw no other choice. It was her duty. It was what was expected of her. It was what she had been groomed her whole life to do. If she did not yield for him, he would cast her aside. The throne would be that much further from her reach. 

“What did he do?” Jaime had finally worked up the courage to ask. 

Cersei sighed. “He wants a _child_, Jaime.” She said, as though it would excuse what he’d done.

Jaime sat up in bed, his sister straddling his waist. He captured her face in his hands, breathing hard.

“I’ll _fucking_ kill him, Cersei.”

Cersei mirrored his actions, taking Jaime’s face in _her _hands.

“_You_ could have been king, brother.” She whispered.

It seemed to defuse him somewhat. 

Jaime nuzzled her nose. “Then you wouldn’t have been queen.” He whispered, falling forward into her, pulling her against him, wrapping his arms around her tightly and resting his head on her shoulder, his face against her neck.  Jaime shut his eyes tightly, tears stinging his eyes, threatening to fall. 

He wanted to give her _everything_.

Cersei realized that now. He would obey. He would do what he had to for her. He was a soldier after all. He was _her_ soldier, her knight. 

Cersei stroked his hair, and the feeling of her fingernails on his scalp made him whimper and tremble against her.  She was everything and so losing her would mean there was nothing. Jaime was intimately familiar with this fact. He'd think about it often. 

Cersei held her head high as her brother clung to her. She hadn’t power over Robert _yet_, but this man she truly did rule. 


	6. Flickering

It wasn’t long before Cersei had stopped having her moon’s blood, and that made her strangely proud. 

It was done; she was with child. 

She examined herself in the looking glass, running her hand over her flat stomach. There was a life _inside_ of her. Half lion, half stag. She felt nothing towards it. Nothing at all; not love, not hate. It might as well not have been there at all. 

She told Robert a month later, wanting to be sure before she told anyone. He seemed relieved. He told Cersei to rest. He told her to stay out of the sun. He ran his hand across her back like he cared for her. She was but a vessel for his legacy, and she would not be deluded into thinking otherwise.

She held off on telling her brother. She didn’t want to disappoint him with the news. He was having a hard time as it were, and to know that a part of the man he so despised was living inside of her might hurt him irreparably. But she knew she’d have to tell him soon. She’d have to tell him before Robert made the announcement. 

She went to his room one evening after dinner, slipping in without knocking. They had nothing to hide. 

“Brother.” She said softly. 

Jaime was at his trunk, changing into his night clothes.  He turned to her as he slipped his shirt over his head and pulled it down, covering his torso.  He smiled at her. She looked angelic in the late sunlight that shone upon her from his open window.  He came to her, his hands on her waist, his lips gracing hers ever so gently. 

“You are so beautiful.” He sighed, unprompted. 

She smiled weakly at him as he ran his fingers through her hair.  She wore her red silken robe over her nightdress, her hair a golden waterfall cascading down over her shoulders and onto her back. She’d already brushed it out for the night, and Jaime liked seeing her like that.  He ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders and then up the sides of her neck until he held her face in his hands. 

_Gods, she wanted him. _

He smelled of leather and oak and Cersei felt her lips part at the thought of tasting him again. 

“Jaime.” She said, taking his hands from her face and holding them.  “I need to speak to you.” 

“You don’t.” Jaime responded, closing the space between them, pressing their lips back together, his tongue just barely grazing her lower lip as he ran it across.

“Jaime, stop.” She whispered, though she unable to pull herself back. 

He took one of his hands back from her, running it along the fold of her robe, his fingertips brushing over the skin of her chest.

“Jaime.” She breathed, her heart racing. 

It had been a _month_ since they’d last been together. 

Cersei had mostly been avoiding him, but Jaime had let her without pushing too hard. After what she’d decided, Jaime thought he would give her space if that’s what she needed.  It didn’t hurt any less, and it certainly didn’t make him _want_ her any less.

She pressed a hand to his chest, and felt the wall of muscle that lay beneath. 

“Jaime, I’m pregnant.” She blurted. 

Jaime’s hand paused where it was on her chest, his palm flat on her and his fingers spreading open. 

He sighed deeply. “I know.” He said. 

Cersei looked up at him, confused. “How?” She asked. 

Jaime shrugged, his hand moving from her chest to her shoulder, fingering her locks of golden hair. “Robert told one of the Kingsguard and it got around, I suppose.”

Jaime played it off, but the night he’d found out, he’d drunk himself into a stupor, bloodied his hands banging at the walls. He’d thought the alcohol were making him sick, but the nausea hadn’t quite gone away yet, even two weeks later. 

“It’s alright, Cersei.” He tried to assure her. He thought it would be easier than it were. He thought her marriage to Robert had been bad, but _this?_ A _child?_ It was everything he wanted with her and nothing he could have. It would have been different if she’d been happy. If she truly wanted this child, it would have been different. He would have been happy for no other reason but that she were happy. But Jaime knew she was doing this to appease Robert.

“You’re not upset?” Cersei asked, surprised. 

Jaime shook his head, his thumb caressing her cheek.

“Why should I be mad?” He asked. His face fell. “Your’e not _mine_, Cersei.” He was hurt and trying his best not to show it. 

Inside, Jaime was furious. Not at Cersei, he knew it wasn’t her fault and he wouldn’t punish her for it, but he was furious at the world they were trapped in. When it got to be too much he would go and spar with whomever he could find that was willing. He’d nearly knocked his last opponent’s teeth out - he’d been so blindly aggressive. He had dreams, almost every night of the many different ways he could kill Robert. During the day, he tried his best to stay focused on his work, to ignore the pangs of heartache and despondency. His sister would do what she had to do. She was good like that; she was clever and tactful and scrappy; stubborn as all hell. And if she’d decided that this was what she needed to do, then Jaime would not question her. He would fall back, he would fall on his sword, even. Whatever he needed to do, he would do it for her. Whatever her will would be, he would see it through. 

“I am.” She said defiantly. “I am, Jaime.”

Jaime shook his head. “You’re not.” He said gently, almost in a whisper. “You’ve never been mine.”

She looked hurt now. 

“No, it’s alright, it’s alright.” He said. “I’ve always known it.”

His hands dropped to her shoulders, gently running across them. His touch was soft, a welcome respite from just about everything else in Cersei’s life, and so she leaned into it. Jaime was the only thing that didn’t hurt her. Not physically at least, not unless she wanted it. He was the only thing she could be sure of. 

“I _am_ yours.” She said. 

Jaime smiled sadly, tears dancing in his eyes to match her own.

“Cersei.” He sighed. He wanted her to understand. “You’re not _mine_. I don’t think you could ever belong to anyone but yourself, and I love you all the more for it.”

Cersei swallowed hard, a painful lump in her throat. 

“But I will _always _be yours, Cersei. I will _always_ belong to you. Only you.”

A tear fell from Cersei’s eye, warming her cheek with a damp streak. 

“And I swear it, sister.” Jaime said. “Say the word and I will kill him without hesitation.”

Cersei pressed herself forward into her brother’s arms, burying her face in his chest, just by his shoulder. 

Jaime held her tightly, his nose pressed against her hair. He closed his eyes as he breathed in the familiar scent of her. His hand slid up her back to the nape of her neck where he squeezed her. 

She shut her eyes tightly and he pressed his forehead to hers. 

“You’ll be an uncle.” She said after a breath, her eyes still shut. 

“A proud uncle.” He nodded, his nose brushing hers. 

“He’ll be a lion.” She said, sure already that it would be a boy.

Jaime nodded again. “If he’s a part of you then he’s a part of me.”’

They were both breathing heavily at this point, the desire for one another palpable. Cersei opened her eyes and when they met her brother’s, their lips rushed together, each of them kissing the other as deeply as they could. 

Cersei found her hands in Jaime’s hair, while Jaime found his one hand still on her neck while the other traced the curves of her back, her side.  He pressed her against the wall and she looped a leg over his, pulling him closer, still.  He hadn’t realized he was hard until his groin was against her, and he released a quick gasp into her mouth at the feeling. Cersei moaned softly when she felt him, and he worked his tongue inside her mouth, sliding it languidly across hers.  He laced his fingers with hers and brought her arms up above her head as they ground their hips together until Jaime could take it no longer. 

He let go of one of her hands and his it fall to her dress, working to pull it up. When it became too difficult, he let go of her other hand, his lips still on hers as they kissed so fiercely that their teeth clicked together. J aime grunted as he finally worked her skirts up, pressing a hand to her center over her small clothes, and earning him a soft moan in response.  His cock throbbed at the sound. 

“Off.” He said into her mouth, letting go and pulling at the tie of her robe until it came undone. He slipped it off her shoulders, his hands immediately going to the tie of her nightdress. 

When he couldn’t untie it, he spun her around and pressed her back to the wall, his bulging erection against her ass as he worked her dress back up, reaching a hand around her to touch her. She moaned, her cheek against the stone of the wall as he rubbed circles on her clit, his hips rocking into her.  With her back to him, he was able to get better access to the ties at the back of her dress. He pulled at the strings with his teeth until they released and he was able to press his lips to the exposed skin there.  His free hand moved up her stomach to her breast, tracing the hard outline of her nipple against the fabric. He rolled his thumb over each one. 

“Jaime.” She hissed at the pressure. 

“You still want me?” He asked, his mind racing. He _needed _her. He _needed_ to be _hers_. 

“I want you, Jaime. I want you, I want you brother.” She repeated over and over, her voice steeped with want, same as her cunt. 

She wanted him to touch _all_ of her. 

She arched her back, rolling her head backward, resting it on his shoulder and looking up at him.  He grunted and, with all the strength he could muster, he moved his hand from her small clothes, and spun her back around, lifting her and pressing her to the wall until she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. She kissed him, holding his face as he carried her to bed, laying her down gently. 

He pulled at her dress, and she sat up and helped him get it off, along with her small clothes, until she lay there bare for him to see.  It pained him to see her body and know that it could never be his, though he couldn’t keep himself from looking. She was the chink in his armour, his heel of Achilles, his weakness, and yet she was also his backbone, his strength, his heart. Without her he had nothing. She was the only thing that gave him purpose. 

“Jaime.” She whispered, bringing his mind back to the present. 

He smiled softly and knelt on the floor at the edge of the bed.  He ran his hands over the tops of her feet, bringing his lips to her toes before sucking gently on them, kissing them the way he kissed her lips.  She watched him, her eyes dusky with desire.  She was glistening wet for him and burning for his touch. 

He kissed his way up her legs, his tongue trailing slowly across her slit, just once, just to taste her, as he travelled up her body. 

She shook with desire, completely enraptured.  Jaime was determined to do to her all of the things that Robert never would.  He needed her to know that nothing would change. He was hers, always. 

When he made it to her lips, he kissed them gently, just barely brushing over them.  He went to move down to her neck when he felt her fingers gripping his waistline, pulling at his pants.  He nearly jumped at the feeling of her fingers so close to his throbbing cock. 

“Not yet.” He whispered, leaning back down to kiss her. 

“I want to see you.” She said, swallowing hard. 

Jaime was silent as his sister sat up, making quick work of his ties until she could pull the fabric down. His cock sprung from his pants, hot and hard and weeping for her.  She pulled his shirt up and over his head before reaching out gingerly and running her fingers over the muscles of his abdomen to his manhood. She drew them in a circle over the tip of him.  Jaime let out a slow hiss as he felt her spread the warm wetness over the head of his cock.  She looked him straight in the eyes and began to work her hand up and down his length. He moaned lasciviously, his hand closing over hers. It took all he had to still her hand, but he did. 

She took her hand from him and pressed her fingers into her mouth, licking his juices from them as he watched intently. 

_Gods._ He breathed shakily before pressing his lips back to hers so they could share the taste. 

From there, he worked his way back down to her neck, sucking until she bucked her hips against him, making him shudder at the feeling of pressure against his cock.  He moved down to her breasts, taking one nipple in his mouth at a time. He sucked hard, nipping and then smoothing his tongue over gently, mitigating the sharpness of his bite.  Cersei whimpered, her legs around his waist, trying to pull him down to her.  Instead, he worked his way down to her cunt, his tongue lapping over her there, lazily. She gasped at the feeling, her hands instinctively in his hair, fingers curling.  She rocked her hips against him as he kissed her there, tasting the sweetness of her. He moaned as he sucked her clit, the vibration causing her to rake her nails over his scalp. His cock ached for her. 

“Jaime.” She moaned. “Oh!” She yipped as he sucked on her again, pushing her over the edge, making her come against his lips. 

He sat back, satisfied, watching her for a moment, his desire for her causing a deep ache within him. 

With his cock in hand, he pressed it against her clit, wetness against wetness, the sounds they made making her even wetter. 

She watched him, propped up on her elbows as he slid his cock through her folds, up, over her clit and then back down. He repeated this over and over until he was quivering and she was begging for him to be inside of her. 

“Now, Jaime.” She said, squirming. “Jaime. I need you.” 

He liked that. He needed her too.  He moved forward until he lay flush against her chest before allowing himself to press inside of her, wrapping his arms around her tightly as they both moaned. 

Cersei rolled her hips almost immediately and Jaime shuddered against her, very nearly losing himself at the feeling. He stilled her and rocked his hips his own way, until she was moaning with each thrust, her legs around his waist, pushing him inside. She wanted him as deeply as possible. 

For some time, they both lay there, rocking against one another, eyes closed, mouths open, euphoria running between them in hot breaths, sweet, whispered words. 

_I need you, I love you, take me, please, please, take me, take me, take me. I’m yours. _

It had been Cersei who’d said that one, _I’m yours_. And Jaime whimpered when he’d heard it, opening his eyes to look upon her. 

“I’m _yours_.” She breathed again, shakily, her eyes shut tightly. “I _am_ yours, I _am_ yours, I _am_.” Jaime pressed his face to her neck, kissing her there and holding on to her with everything he had. 

“Jaime.” She squeaked desperately. 

He angled himself upward and she came with a yelp, pulsing around him, clawing at his back to hold him closer.  He felt himself shaking, about to come, and she held him inside of her, rolling her hips when he could control himself no longer. 

When he came, it was inside of her. It had been so long since they’d last done that. Their first and last time had been her wedding day.  Jaime pressed his lips to hers, kissing her as he spilled inside of her, and Cersei moaned lowly, kissing him back as he saw white. 

They stayed like that for some time, tongues running along each other as they came back down, joined together as they were meant to be.  Jaime felt his sister’s hands on his face and he pulled back to look at her.  Half-lidded, and dark, her emerald eyes captivated him. 

She ran her nose along his until their lips were pressed together again and she whispered, “_Yours_.”

Jaime nodded, understanding now that he’d been wrong. The candlelight danced in his eyes as he tried to hold back his emotions. It had all been so much lately.  He pressed his forehead to hers and they each closed their eyes, lashes tangling together like their limbs.

“_Mine_.” He whispered, before their mouths fell together again. 


	7. Boiling Over

Tyrion stood on the cliff overlooking the small sparring field carved into the rocks below. The sea breeze blew his hair wildly, and coated his skin with a sticky layer of salt.  He watched his brother below, sparring with some poor bastard who thought he could take the_ kingslayer_.  Tyrion shuddered at the nickname. He was no stranger to cruel epithets of his own.

He worried about his brother. Jaime had been so distant lately. Tyrion suspected it was something to do with Cersei - it usually was. She hadn't been herself lately either, come to think of it, though Cersei was very often upset.  Tyrion watched with a smug smirk on his face as Jaime toppled the man, a squire perhaps, and turned his back on him, stalking away. 

The squire stood and shouted something after Jaime and he whipped around, tackling the young man back to the ground. They wrestled around for a minute before Jaime threw a punch. 

Tyrion rushed down the steep stone stairs toward his brother. 

“Jaime!” He yelled. Jaime was out of Tyrion’s line of sight for a moment while he descended the stairs as quickly as he could. 

“Brother! Stop at once!” Tyrion shouted at Jaime, who had apparently taken a few blows of his own while his little brother had been out of view. 

When it became clear that Jaime was not going to stop, Tyrion sighed deeply. He wished he’d had something to drink before this.  He moved toward the men, pulling at Jaime’s neckline until he was distracted enough to turn and push Tyrion off of him, causing him to fall on the hard stones with a grunt.  Jaime heard his brother’s fall and immediately stopped beating the squire, who’d given up long ago.  Jaime stood, his white shirt covered with splattered blood and dirt from the ground.  He gave Tyrion a glance, his brows knitted together as though he were deep in thought, and he stomped away.  Tyrion looked at the squire on the ground, covered in his own blood. The man’s eyes met Tyrion’s who looked away quickly. 

“I…” Tyrion trailed off and then rummaged around in his pockets until he found two golden coins and tossed them on the squire’s chest before hurrying after his brother. 

Tyrion found Jaime in the gardens. He knew Jaime loved the vegetation, the peace, though his brother would never outwardly say it. Tyrion wondered if Cersei even knew that about him. 

Jaime sat surrounded by a plot of tall grasses, long green stems with downy golden fronds at the tips.  Tyrion took a seat on the ground next to his brother.  Neither man spoke for a long while. 

Finally, Tyrion piped up. “He was a hardly a squire, Jaime.” 

Jaime kept his silence. 

“What did he say to you?” Tyrion asked. 

Jaime stared off into the distance, his brow still furrowed. He had a cut on his cheek from the scrap, just under his eye. 

“He called me Kingslayer.” Jaime mumbled. 

Tyrion scoffed. “As has all of King’s Landing, brother. You did, after all, slay a king.”

Jaime turned to his brother. “And you’re an imp, after all. Doesn’t make the comment any less insolent.” 

Tyrion pursed his lips and nodded slowly. He’d all but numbed himself to that name, but it stung as never before coming from his brother. 

“I’m sorry.” Jaime said quietly, immediately regretful of the slight. “I didn’t mean that… You’re not… You’re not an imp.”

Tyrion waved it off, knowing that Jaime’s apology was sincere. 

“What possessed you?” He asked. 

Jaime shrugged his shoulders. 

“No, it’s _something._” Tyrion said, assuredly. 

Jaime looked away. Silence. 

“Mh. Well... How is our lovely sister?” Tyrion asked, watching Jaime intently, waiting for a reaction. 

He did, at the mention of her name, tense up. 

Tyrion nodded. This _is_ about her. 

Jaime looked at his brother, the pain behind his eyes making Tyrion squirm. He’d never seen Jaime this way. 

Despite their recent coupling, Jaime felt distant from his sister. She was so consumed by responsibilities now, and Robert was even being _protective_ of her. _Robert. _Jaime had seen him with his ruddy hands on her waist at dinner like he deserved to touch her. He didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as Cersei. 

Jaime felt uncontrollable rage at the fact that his sister deserved so much better. That _he_ could give her that, and yet, he was very nearly the only person in the world that was not permitted to.

“She’s pregnant.” Jaime said lowly, wincing as he touched the cut under his eye. Jaime trusted Tyrion enough to know that he would say nothing of the matter. 

Tyrion inhaled deeply, nodding his head. “Oh.” Was all he could say at first. He was actually rather surprised. And then he wondered by _whom. _Was Jaime upset because she wouldn’t keep his child? _Was_ it Jaime’s child?

“Jaime… I…”

Tyrion had never talked with Jaime about _it_. He wasn’t even exactly sure when he’d discovered that his brother had feelings for his sister. They never talked about it, not directly. It was dangerous to say the least, but Jaime obviously needed someone now.

Much to Tyrion’s relief, however, Jaime interrupted him. 

“That bloody fucking bastard, Tyrion. I _know_ what he does to her, I _know_ he hurts her.”

Tyrion watched his brother fume. Truthfully, he didn’t even recognize Jaime right now. The man was normally so easy-going. 

“She won’t let me do anything about it. She won’t let me help and I don’t know what to do because I can’t just sit here and wait for him to _hurt_ her and I can’t stand the thought of him … _touching_ her. I can’t … and now she’s _pregnant_ and I don’t even know if she wants to be… But she says she doesn’t want him, she says she’s m-…and… and I just want to help and I can’t because she won’t… she won’t…” Jaime was nearly in tears at this point, his knees drawn up to his chest and his hands clutching his hair, pulling at it. 

It was one of the few times in Tyrion’s life that he was properly speechless. 

Tyrion wanted to shake his brother, to scream at him and tell him that this was none of his concern, that Cersei was a grown woman who could make her own decisions and could care for herself, but he knew it was no use.  All their lives he’d only ever seen Jaime in tears over Cersei. He _must _love her then… Tyrion thought to himself.  Gods, the bloody fool must really _love_ her.

Tyrion cleared his throat. 

“A man can be called father.” He began, watching as his brother wiped his eyes abashedly. “But be nothing of the sort. A man can be _called_ father, but that does not mean he _is_ a father.” 

Jaime was silent for a moment, thinking.

“Tywin Lannister comes to mind.” Tyrion chaffed, in an effort to lighten a serious sentiment. But it struck Jaime. He nodded. He thought of their father - thought of all the ways that he wasn’t really a father at all. He felt _nothing _towards his father. 

It eased something inside of Jaime, gave him a modicum of hope. 

Jaime bowed his head to his brother. "You're a good man." He said. 

Tyrion stood and clapped Jaime on the shoulder. "As are you, brother."

Tyrion walked away, shaking his head and chuckling despite the worry plaguing him deep within his chest. Lannister men certainly _were_ fools, especially, it seemed, where love was involved… and that’s what he was worried for.


	8. Glowing

The news of Cersei's pregnancy caused quite a stir in King's Landing. There were parties and feasts all throughout the capital. None, grander, of course, than the one thrown by the proud father-to-be himself.

It wasn't customary to throw a party to _announce_ a pregnancy. Most kings waited until the birth of their heir, at which point, if it were a boy, there would be a celebration.  But Robert wasn't like most kings. Robert was already sure his heir would be a boy. So, a party it was. And if anyone knew how to throw a proper party, it was Robert.

The food alone was enough to feed the whole of the capital for several days. There was enough drink to keep them happily buzzed throughout as well.

As she sat poised at her husband's side, Cersei wished she could partake in the wine. Everyone was there because of _her _for godsakes, and she was stuck there next to a bumbling idiotic excuse for a king on her one side, and her _father _on the other, and neither of had even asked her how she was feeling; which was miserable, _by the way._

Yes, the great Tywin Lannister had made the trip from The Rock to congratulate his daughter on _finally _fulfilling her duties.

The men joked and griped and everything in-between right across her without even acknowledging she was there at all. She sat there in silence. 

She thought about Jaime, sitting next to Tywin. Cersei could barely see him from this angle, facing the crowd like a bloody _thesbian. _Then, she supposed that’s exactly what she was. 

Jaime was thinking just the same thing, as he sat there. He did, at least, have Tyrion to his right to keep him company, Though his little brother had already had his fair share of ale and was muttering something about some whore from Lannisport. 

Finally, Robert decided without first consulting Cersei, it was time for him to introduce his heir to the masses. He  stood, his heavy wooden chair scraping the ground loudly as he pushed it back, enough to silence the room. 

“My son!” He declared simply, pulling Cersei up rudely by the arm and raising her hand up with his. 

The crowd was on their feet cheering, and Jaime had joined them out of rage, seeing the way he'd _handled_ Cersei as if she were an animal. 

Cersei’s face was expressionless. At four months pregnant, she was hardly showing, yet was exhibiting all sorts of strange symptoms and cravings. Pickled cucumbers were certainly one of them, as she’d piled as many as she could onto her plate, along with some potatoes for good measure. Unfortunately, nausea was also a common occurrence, which was why she’d yet to touch any of her food.  She wanted to be curled up in bed, preferably with Jaime. Not here, stuck in some stuffy hall and paraded in front of a crowd of rowdy imbeciles. 

It had been _ages_ since she and Jaime had enjoyed any alone time. Robert had been keeping a close eye on her now that she carried his child. She knew how unhappy Jaime was at that. He wanted her all the time. The most they’d seen each other lately was in passing in the halls, and sat at dinners between Robert and Uncle Kevan. 

Jaime’d met her in the hall just the other day, brushing his hand over her arm and whispering to her that he loved her under his breath. Cersei had nearly slapped him for it; being that overt, but she supposed that would only make things more conspicuous. 

He’d wanted to say so much more to her. He’d wanted to ask her how she was feeling, if she needed anything. He’d wanted to see her, to scour her body for the slightest sign that Robert was mistreating her, and either way, he wanted to kiss every bit of her and make her forget all about him. 

"_Don't." _Tyrion whispered to Jaime when they sat back down and Tyrion had tracked Jaime's gaze to their sister, his hands balled into fists.

Jaime turned to his brother. "I don't know what you're talking about." He hissed, somewhat incredulously.

Tyrion rolled his eyes and went back to his drink.

Not long after, people had gotten up to dance and chat. Cersei turned to her father. 

“How are things at home?” She asked him, brightly. 

Tywin took a long sip of wine. 

“Well.” He said, answering her question and offering her nothing more to go off of. 

“We’ve completely silenced the rebellions, as I’m sure you’ve heard.” Cersei said. 

Tywin simply nodded. 

“Robert had wanted to continue to Dorne, but I told him what you’ve always said; if they’d any chance at besting us they’d have done it long ago. 

Cersei knew she was blatantly pandering at this point, but she _longed_ for her father to see that she had been paying attention, to show him that she had more to offer than just her womb. 

Tywin nodded slowly and took another sip from his cup. 

“How is the child?” He asked, “Healthy?”

Cersei’s face fell, along with her hopes. He cared not for _her_ health, only that of the heir that grew inside of her. His key to the Kingdoms. 

Cersei did not answer and Tywin did not pursue it further - it did not hold his interest. Instead, he stood and made his way over to speak with Kevan. 

Cersei stared down at her plate. 

She'd never had more hate for herself than after speaking with her father. She ached for him to treat her like his _daughter. _To recognize how smart she was and how trustworthy. But he never did. He gave all his trust and confidence to Jaime and Robert. She was just another _woman_. A daughter in name, worth something only when he could use her as a pawn in his game; a purebred broodmare fit for a king so that he could reap his fair share of sovereignty.  Her father cared not to hear of her pains. If she'd told him all that Robert did to her, he would tell her that she should serve him better. If she were preforming her duties _properly_, Robert would not be upset with her at all. _Ever_. He had far more important things to concern himself with.

Cersei glanced around the room. She couldn't stomach the idea of faking pleasantries with some lord or other. Instead, she stood and made her way quickly out of the great hall, and through the many passages of the castle to the keep, where she slipped into her dressing quarters. Nobody would disturb her there. 

She sighed as she sat on a soft sofa, far away from everyone. The noise of the party was muffled by closed doors and thick stone walls, but still, she could hear it. 

She wondered if there would have been a way... When she were a child if she could have proven herself to her father. What was it about her that he didn't believe in? Why couldn't he see that she was more than just a commodity?  She peered out of the small window behind her, the cool breeze carried in from outside, along with a few stray raindrops.  Suddenly, the door creaked open, and she’d known it was her brother the moment she'd heard it.

"You haven't eaten." He said sheepishly, holding her dinner plate in his hands.

She acknowledged him and then turned to look back out the window. 

"Not hungry." She sighed. 

Jaime bit his lip and sat down carefully next to her. 

"Gods, you've got a lot of pickled cucumbers on here. Since when have you liked these?" Jaime asked as he bit one in half, crunching it. 

Cersei shrugged, still watching the rain outside. 

"They taste like your toes." Jaime laughed. 

Cersei's head snapped over to look at him. "They do _not."_

Jaime laughed. "No, but, sister I didn't know you were so defensive of your feet.”

Cersei rolled her eyes. 

Jaime was disappointed that she'd not laughed with him. He _wanted _to make her laugh, if only for a moment. Perhaps she would have laughed a year ago, he thought. 

J aime reached out gingerly, his hand ghosting across her leg, just barely trailing over the silky fabric, her plate between them.  She stared at his hand, stared at where he touched her. She would not look at him. 

"Have something to eat." He said softly. "Just a few bites, at least. Please."

Cersei shook her head. "I don't feel well, Jaime."

"No?" He asked, concerned, taking his hand from her thigh and placing the back of it gently on her forehead to check for a fever. When he concluded that she felt quite fine, he let his hand fall to her cheek, stroking her there.

She looked up at him and he could see the pain in her eyes.

"Oh." He breathed. 

He took her hand in his. 

"It's alright." He whispered. "Everything will be alright, Cersei, I swear it."

Cersei’s eyes fell again. 

"Is this what you want?" He asked her.

She was silent for some moments before answering, "it doesn't matter what I want."

"It does to me." Jaime shot back, immediately.

Cersei found herself upset. She wasn't even sure what he was referring to; Robert, the child, King's Landing, him? Nobody ever asked her what she wanted but Jaime. She didn't often think about what she _wanted, _only what she _needed._ She needed to be queen, and for that, she needed a child, Robert's child. And she needed her brother, and for that she needed to put up with Robert because Jaime would kill him without batting an eye if she told him to, and then she would have nothing; no regency, no Jaime. 

When Cersei didn't answer him, Jaime brought her hand to his lips and kissed her there, three times on the back of her hand.

“I _like_ your toes.” He whispered against her hand, earning himself the smallest hint of a smirk. It was enough. 

“Come here." He breathed, pulling her legs over his and wrapping his arms around her so that she fit snugly against him. One of jaime's hands tangled in her hair and the other ran across her back, drawing gentle circles, grazing the curves of her lower half. 

She just rested there against him, enjoying the way his arms felt about her. It had been too long since she’d been held like this. Since _he’d _held her like this, because, she suspected, were it anyone else, she wouldn’t enjoy it nearly as much - at all, really. 

Jaime’s nose brushed hers, his eyes as gentle as his touch. 

“D’you think it’s a boy?” Jaime asked softly, his breath warm against her lips. 

“I don’t know.” Cersei said.

“No, but do you _think_?” Jaime asked. 

Cersei cocked her head and Jaime moved forward, unwilling to let the space between them grow any larger. There was too much of it as it were, even with her pressed against him this way. They were meant to be _one._

“I do think so, yes.” Cersei admitted, almost ashamed to agree with Robert, to believe that Robert might be right about it… about _anything._

“Hmm.” Jaime hummed, brushing his hand over her cheek and then cradling her head before leaning down and kissing her tenderly. 

“I think it’s a girl. Fuck Robert.”

Cersei laughed out loud, a genuine _grin _gracing her beautiful face. 

Jaime’s stomach flipped at the sight of it. Oh, how he wished he could keep it there always.  He kissed her again, just to feel it against him, her sweet smile.  And then he brought his hand to her shoulder, squeezing her there. 

"Gods, Cersei." He whispered, and then bringing his hand to her neck. "Try and relax." 

She was so tense he could hardly stand it. 

"Turn around." He said, letting his arms fall from her. 

She missed his warmth as soon as it was gone, but she did as he said, moving her legs from over his and turning her back on him.

"There." He whispered, taking her hair in his hands, running his fingers through it before brushing it to the side, over her left shoulder. 

He traced the curve of her neck gently with his fingertips until each of his hands were on her shoulders and he pressed his thumbs into her.  Cersei felt the blood rush back into her muscles. The feeling was enlightening.  Jaime's lips hovered close to her neck, breathing in her scent. 

"Harder, Jaime." She urged, and he thought immediately of _other _times she'd said that to him, meaning something quite different. 

He smiled at the thought and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, laid bare thanks to the generous neckline of her dress. Her skin was warm and Jaime let his lips rest there for a moment, tilting his head so that his forehead was against her neck, his eyes shut tightly. He marveled at how easy it was to get lost in her.  He shook himself out of it, wanting to do this for her and kissed her once more on the side of her neck, delicately, before pulling back and pressing his thumbs into her harder. 

"Mh." She moaned softly, and Jaime realized he was half hard.

He continued working her shoulders and Cersei closed her eyes, enjoying the relief only Jaime could provide her. 

Jaime pressed his lips to her ear, “We’re better than the lot of them, you and I.” He whispered, running his hands up and down her back now. 

Cersei felt his nose on her temple.

“Surely you know that.” 

Cersei’s lips turned upward as she listened to her brother, felt his delicate breaths formed into supports as they ever were, supports for her to cling to when the water around her got too high.  That was all he’d needed to say. 

Cersei reached behind her, pulling his hands forward, under her arms, until he hugged her from behind, his chest pressed against her back, her hands over his, resting on her stomach. 

Jaime leaned his head against hers now, their golden locks melding together. 

Cersei let his warmth overtake her until she was _too_ hot, even with the cool air wafting in from the window. And then, she turned her head to look at him by her shoulder. 

Jaime’s eyes were half-lidded. He was so enamoured with her he could hardly stand it.  His hands ran over her stomach. He hadn’t yet noticed the child growing inside, though tonight, he could feel that her dress fit her more tightly there than usual. 

He watched her expression soften as he moved a hand up to her breast. Her dress was tighter there as well, and he felt himself stirring that.  When he squeezed her there, he relished the short gasp that escaped her lips. She was more sensitive there than usual. He could see the outline of her nipples, hard against her gown, and he brought his other hand up now, taking each of his thumbs and index fingers and rolling her nipples through them. 

Cersei bit her lip as she tried to stop the whimpers that he coaxed from her. 

“Jaime.” She breathed, her voice shaking. 

She turned her head a bit more, and he leaned forward, capturing her lips in a deep kiss, his tongue working its way through to find hers.  As he kissed her, he let his right hand travel up to the base of her neck, holding her there for a moment while his left wandered down between her legs.  She moaned softly into his mouth as she opened her legs more for him, allowing him to touch her through the fabric of her skirts. 

He slipped his right hand under her neckline, and then lower, caressing her left breast. It was his turn to moan now, at how soft and full her breasts felt. 

As she felt him playing with her nipples, she began to rock her hips in time with his hand, all while their tongues tangled together  Cersei cursed the layers between them. She pulled away, turning quickly to him. 

“They’ll be wondering where you are.” Jaime huffed. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“You’re right.” Cersei whispered with a smirk, reaching for the ties of his breeches, “We shouldn’t.”

She felt _empty_ now, without him inside of her, and she wasn’t sure how to communicate that. 

“But I need you.” She whispered, hoping it would suffice. 

Jaime hadn’t needed any convincing at all, but those sweet words caused him to moan, and, holding the back of his sister's head, he pulled her down until their lips were pressed together again. 

She worked at his breeches as they kissed until she was able to free his manhood. 

“Sister.” Jaime sighed, barely able to speak through it all. 

Cersei hitched her skirts up and straddled her brother, lowering herself onto his erect cock. 

The feeling that rushed through her as he entered her slowly was like none other. She felt every centimeter of him as he pressed into her. As she felt the warmth of him inside of her, she made a sound that Jaime longed to hear over and over, a low rumbling resembling a purr. Jaime sat up straight, holding her hips and pressing his lips to her neck, sucking gently. He wished he could do the same to the nipples he saw through her dress, but they were short on time, he supposed. _Later perhaps, _he told himself. 

Cersei rolled her hips over him and soon they were clinging to one another, exchanging moans and whimpers and hot breaths as their bodies did what they had been created to do; fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. 

“Jaime.” She cried as she came, clutching a fistful of his golden hair.  He growled at the feeling, and he came as well, his arms around her waist as he held her as tightly as was possible without hurting her.  He pressed his face to her breast as he caught his breath, and she held on to him tightly around the neck. 

After a minute, she stood and smoothed out her skirts, fixing her hair, and Jaime re-tied his breeches. He watched as his sister leaned down and ate one of her pickled cucumbers.  Jaime smiled widely at that.

"Come here." He whispered, taking her in his arms once more.

She surrendered to him gladly, their bodies pressed together for one last embrace before they returned begrudgingly to the party. 

Jaime watched from the floor now as his sister descended the stairs to the platform that held the Royal table. She sat back at her seat, her skin glowing and her hair just _slightly_ messier than before. It would be imperceptible to everyone in the room but Jaime. And he smiled at that; their secret. 

He was so caught up in watching his sister, thinking of all the things he would have done to her - would _do _to her when there was time, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt two strong hands clasp his shoulders. 

“We need to talk.” The voice was steely; stern as ever. Jaime still heard it occasionally in his dreams. His father. 


	9. Burning

Tywin had Jaime cornered and the knight was sweating through his silks. Had his father somehow _seen_ them? Had someone told him something? Had he heard them? Jaime realized they hadn’t exactly been quiet. Neither had been much concerned about that in the moment.  They’d been careless. And while their _father_ was here as well. Jaime was busy kicking himself when Tywin said, 

“We need to talk about your inheritance.” 

Jaime sighed deeply. 

“Now, I know it’s not something you like speaking about, but I think you need to rethink this.” Tywin said at Jaime’s reaction. 

“I’m sworn to the Kingsguard, father, I don’t _have_ an inheritance. I believe Tyrion is the one you’re meant to be speaking to.”

Tywin rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t be smart, Jaime. I’m aware of your… oath. I’m also aware, along with all of Westeros, that you’ve _broken_ it at least once before. But I’ve spoken to Robert, and as a personal favour to _me, _he has expressed that he would be willing to release you from said _oath_.”

Not two minutes with his father and Jaime’s blood was boiling. 

“I broke that oath for you!” He shouted. Luckily, the party was buzzing so that nobody paid them particular attention. “To protect you and your bloody family name and all of Westeros because he would have _slaughtered_ us all!”

Tywin pressed his lips together into a flat line. He'd always been good at staying infuriatingly calm. 

“You are heir to Casterly Rock.” Tywin said smoothly. “You are one of the greatest knights in the realm. You are a _Lannister. _I will not sit idly by while you toss all I gave you away.”

“_Yes_.” Jaime hissed, “I’m a bloody _Lannister, _and so is my brother. He’s just as much a Lannister as I.” 

“Casterly Rock will not go to your brother.” Tywin said, finally. Jaime could see his father’s facade beginning to chip away. “I will not have our _home_ inherited by that bloody cretin. He’ll run the Lannister name through the dirt as he’s done with every other privilege I’ve given him in his pathetic life.” 

Jaime’s fists clenched. He hated the way his father spoke about Tyrion. 

“What do you have here anyhow?” Tywin asked. “Most days you’re guarding the door to Robert’s privy as I understand it. No wealth, no wife, no posterity…” Tywin trailed off. He’d loathed Jaime’s appointment to the white cloaks from the very day it had been granted. Aery’s had always had it out for him, for their family. Tywin had known it, but he’d hoped when Jaime’d been given the opportunity to walk away he would have taken it. Jaime had nothing in King’s Landing. Surely he wasn’t sticking around for the _honour_ of it.

“I’ve had enough.” Jaime said, trying his best to keep calm, his gaze wandering for a moment to his sister, sitting alone while Robert chatted with some woman he’d never seen before. Cersei was reason enough for _anything_ to Jaime. He could answer so many questions simply with her name. 

_Why?_

_For Cersei._

“This conversation is not over.” Tywin declared as Jaime stalked away, furious. 

Tywin figured he’d give the boy time to think things through. Casterly Rock was too big a privilege to renounce. Jaime would not spurn him this way. He was a _Lannister. _His duty was to his family first. 

On his way back to the table, Tyrion caught his brother. 

“What was that about?” He asked. 

Jaime shook his head. “Nothing of import.” Jaime replied curtly over the noise of the crowd. 

Tyrion held up his goblet for Jaime, who took it and downed the wine as quickly as he could, before handing it back to his younger brother. 

“Thanks.” He said. 

Tyrion simply nodded and sauntered off to get more wine. 

The rest of the party consisted of Jaime continually filling his cup and stealing glances at his sister until his gaze landed on a drunken Robert, surrounded by whores. 

Tywin, though he truly hadn’t the power to do so, ordered the Kingsguard to escort the drunken idiot from the hall, and the Kingsguard, pained by this embarrassing spectacle, obliged. 

Jaime was one of the first men to reach Robert, and, as he held the king by his arm, he looked up to see his sister hanging her head. Another bloody embarrassment at the hands of the halfwit stag.

After Robert had been successfully removed from the party, Cersei stood to make her exit. She made it as far as the doorway when Tywin caught her. 

“I need to ask you something.” He said. 

Cersei’s hopes rose so easily, even after all they’d been through before. Perhaps her father now understood what she went through. Perhaps he would understand how truly awful Robert was to her; the sacrifices she made for the family, just as he’d always taught her. 

“You and your brother have always been close.” He began, and Cersei’s stomach flipped. _How had he found out? It must have been that bloody little imp. _

"I wonder if there’s any reason you know of that Jaime would would pass up the Rock in favour of remaining in the Kingsguard." Tywin finished. 

Cersei was so relieved in that she forgot all about her hopes for her relationship with her father. 

“J-Jaime?” She stuttered, confused and flustered beyond belief. “How can he leave the Kingsguard?”

“Robert will allow it as a favour to me.” Tywin said as though it were not something she _deserved_ to know. 

“Jaime wouldn’t leave.” She said, shaking her head, when she’d really wanted to say ‘Jaime wouldn’t leave _me_.’

Tywin stared at her the way he always had, eyes gouging into her soul. 

“Yes, thank you, I’m quite aware that he _won’t. _I’m asking, Cersei, if there’s a _reason _he won’t.”

“Mh.” She hummed, pretending to be deep in thought. “Not that I can think of, Lord father. Perhaps he enjoys the company. Being amongst kings and councils and all.”

Tywin waved her off and muttered some form of a goodnight as he walked away, unsatisfied. 

Cersei stood there, watching her father slink off and thought how, just an hour ago, Jaime had been _inside_ of her. He’d spilled himself _inside _of her. Nobody knew. Not the King of the Realm, not even the great Tywin Lannister. Something about it made her flush. She wanted more.

Meanwhile, Jaime and the few other Kingsguard had finally gotten Robert into bed. He lay there looking like a giant child under the covers. Jaime wished the Seven Kingdoms could see their great warrior king now. 

“Lannister!” Robert slurred, pointing a finger at Jaime.

Jaime just stared. 

“Get me your sister!” He shouted, laughing. “I want to remind her why we had this party in the first place!”

One of the Kinsguard sniggered. 

“Get out.” Jaime hissed at the other guards through gritted teeth. When they did not move he shouted at them, “Now!” 

All but one left, standing at the door. Jaime ignored him, focusing his rage on Robert.

“My _sister_ is not a whore.” Jaime said, his voice shaking with rage. “You can’t just have her any time you like.”

“She’s the mother of my child.” Robert said, pulling himself together in a moment of sobriety. “She’s my _wife_. If I want to take her, she is mine to take.”

Jaime nearly lunged at the sorry excuse for a king, but the man continued, “I’m sure your father has told you of the opportunity I’ve afforded you. I’ve been more than generous. If you don’t like the way I run my ship, go and pretend to run your own. I’ll make the choice for you if I have to.” Robert threw his empty goblet at Jaime’s feet and turned over in bed, snoring but seconds later. 

Jaime stormed out of the room, rageful and half-relieved that he hadn’t _killed _the man. 

“Shall we go get your sister, Lannister?” One of the guards who was outside Robert’s chambers japed as he leaned against a wall.

Jaime felt something inside him snap and he lunged this man instead, beating him with his fists. Jaime landed enough blows to knock the man unconscious before the other guards could pull him away. 

None of them said a word as Jaime made his back to his chambers. 

He felt his face grow warm and realized he’d likely have a bruise there in the morning. 

He threw open the door to his chambers and stopped dead in his tracks. His sister sat on his bed, her hair down, all her braids brushed out, and in her evening robe. How perfect she looked. 

She stood as he entered, moving toward him, and he met her in the middle, his bloodied hands gripping her waist tightly. 

Cersei reached up and touched a cut on his lip, and Jaime winced. He hadn’t realized it was there. 

“Not Robert.” She said, worriedly. Jaime shook his head no.

"It's nothing." He assured her.

She let out a small sigh of relief and then leaned toward him, kissing the wound, smoothing her tongue across it, soothing the pain. 

When she pulled away, Jaime eyed her hungrily. He pressed her backward, walking her toward the bed until she fell upon it, holding him at his chest and dragging him down with her. 

Her arms were around his neck and her legs around his hips. 

“Fuck me, Jaime.” She whispered against his lips, her eyes closing and her back arching toward him as she let out a small moan. “I want you, brother.”

Jaime rolled his hips against hers and she moaned again, feeling him pressed against her, his weight atop her. 

“You're mine.” He growled, kissing her deeply until they broke apart, gasping for air. 

Cersei nodded quickly. “Yours.” She said, breathlessly. “Take me, take me, please. I’m yours.”

He did take her, and she him, roughly, needily, lustily and lovingly. Aftwrward, he held her, unwilling to let her go. Not yet, not yet. He pressed his face against her neck, inhaling her scent, her spirit, piecing their shared soul together as best as he could. Easing the pain as best he could. 

"I will never leave you." He breathed against her skin, as though he knew she'd thought it earlier. "Never."

Cersei nodded, stroking his hair and leaning down to kiss his forehead. 

"I know." She whispered. And she did know, but somehow she still felt uneasy.


	10. Seething

Jaime had come to visit his sister. He hadn't been quiet about it. It was midday and he had to practice for the upcoming tourney but he wanted to see her beforehand. 

Cersei was out on her balcony, sitting on a bench that overlooked the courtyard.  She did not notice the door opening or closing, nor his footsteps as he plodded toward her. 

He stood in the archway, halfway between indoors and out and looked upon her. She was beautiful. More beautiful with each passing day, it seemed. 

She wore her hair in a single braid today. She didn't do that often, but Jaime liked it very much. Their mother used to do her hair like that when they were young. Jaime once clamoured up on to their mother's lap and whined until she'd braided his hair the same way. He smiled at the memory. Cersei had been so happy when she'd seen it, she'd squealed and hugged Jaime so tightly he'd lost his breath. 

"Cersei." He said softly, wishing to give her that smile, that same joyous feeling again as he had when they were young. But she didn't even turn to look at him. 

Jaime waited another minute, just watching her. He guessed that she hadn't even heard him. She seemed rather distracted.  She ran her hand across her stomach, the way she liked him to do in the brief moments they could find the time to be that tender. He wondered if she thought of the way he did that for her. He wondered if Robert had. 

"Where are you?" He wondered aloud, deciding finally to make his presence known by kneeling before her. 

She jumped at his voice, a jolt back to reality, and her cheeks blushed red with the embarrassment of being so unaware. 

Jaime ran a single hand up her leg, covered by sky blue silks today. 

His sister's hand fell from her stomach. 

At five months pregnant, she still looked thin. In fact, it concerned Jaime how _normal_ she looked. Surely she wasn't eating enough, he thought, but she did seem to have a healthy appetite, and the maester was unconcerned as of yet. 

"The Knights will be coming in any moment." Cersei said, her hand absentmindedly on Jaime's. 

Jaime glanced toward their joined hands, unable to keep the smile at their connection from his face.  Cersei seemed to follow his gaze, noticing then and, much to Jaime's chagrin, withdrew her hand. 

"You should stand." She said, her voice turning cold. "Robert will be coming back."

Jaime obliged, disappointed. 

"Father will be here soon as well." Cersei reminded him. "Have you spoken to Robert on your decision?" 

Jaime shook his head. He'd been avoiding it. In fact, he'd been actively avoiding Robert since he first met the man. 

Cersei sighed, but before she could reprimand him, there was motion below. Several knights had begun to file in. Jaime named each of them as he saw them.  Cersei sat quietly, letting her brother scope the competition until someone caught her eye. 

"Is that _Gregor?_" She asked when she saw the figure of a man who might have been part giant if she hadn't known better. 

Jaime nodded. "_Ser_ Gregor." He ammended. "They call him The Mountain now. He was knighted just recently. I heard he drove a sword straight through a man's head as he held him top-side-down by his ankle."

Cersei raised her brows.  "He's... I mean I remember seeing him before but _now._.. He's..."

"A monster." Jaime finished, nodding. 

"_Marvelous._" Cersei breathed. 

Jaime did a double take at his sister, but she didn't seem to notice. Distracted again, this time by the competition, _his _competition. Jaime's ears burned hot with jealousy. 

_Marvelous_? Jaime had never heard Cersei call anything _marvelous_.

"Just... _Marvelous._" She said again, much to Jaime's displeasure. 

"I could take him easily." Jaime asserted. 

Cersei looked up at him then, studying him. Jaime puffed his chest. 

"Don't be such a fool." Cersei said, almost laughing. 

Jaime was crestfallen. "Last I heard, mountains are rather slow. And rather dimwitted." He said, defending himself. 

He turned away from her, his eyes following the brute of a man as he walked through the courtyard. 

"Imagine him in a joust? He'll crush his bloody horse soon as he mounts the sorry creature."

“He’s not here for the tourney then?” Cersei asked. 

Jaime shook his head. “Probably here to watch. He’s not practiced enough, the savage.”

Cersei seemed relieved, and Jaime was equal parts offended and flattered that she cared. 

They watched as a few more knights filtered in, Jaime subconsciously moving nearer to his sister until he decided he’d just take a seat next to her. 

"You'll watch me?" He asked.

She nodded. 

Jaime smiled to himself and leaned his head against her shoulder. 

“Jaime.” She warned, feeling uneasy. 

"You're my good luck charm." He said, Tilting his head until he could kiss her neck.

His hand ran up her thigh. 

"I thought you might like to kiss me good luck." He said smoothly. 

"I told you, Robert will be back. You should go." She said, cooly, though she did lean toward him. 

He took that as a victory.  "Yes, your Grace." He whispered against her ear.

Cersei's lips twitched upward into a smile and, to Jaime's delight, she turned and kissed him on the lips, sucking his bottom lip through her teeth and pulling at it before releasing him. 

"There's no such thing as luck, Ser Jaime." She breathed, pushing at his chest until he stood. 

He smiled down at her, reaching out and running his thumb across her lips. 

"We'll see." He said before leaving her. 

* * *

The evening was fraught with excitement over the impending tourney. Robert was, of course, hosting a large feast for all the noble men and women in attendance. 

Jaime sat at his table amongst the other knights, drinking his ale and picking at his chicken. He often had a nervous stomach before his competitions, though he'd never let on.  He stole glances at his sister sitting in her usual place by the king. She looked exceedingly lovely, as always. Tonight she worea golden dress to match her flowing hair, which she wore in waves down her back, her golden crown atop her head. She was a queen if ever there was one.  Jaime wore beige breeches and a deep red crimson doublet with gold embroidery and a white flowing cotton shirt underneath. He wondered if she thought him as beautiful as he did her. He somehow doubted that were possible. 

He felt immense pride that she was his sister; that people knew they were twins. The most beautiful woman in all the kingdoms; in all the world; and she was _his_. Of course they didn’t know that part, but it were true, He would occasionally hear lords and ladies muttering things about her, how _beautiful_, how _regal_. She was perfect. 

Jaime wished they would have time together tonight, but he knew it was unlikely. Robert and Cersei would be quite busy with all their distinguished guests, but perhaps later. Perhaps. For the moment, Jaime made conversation with his fellow knights, avoiding the gaze of his father, who sat across the room, as best he could. 

When the feasting was done and the partakers had begun to dance and mingle about, Jaime caught Cersei talking to The Mountain. 

He was filled with jealousy at the sight. _What are they speaking about? Is she actually interested in him? Does she desire him? Surely not. Surely not. But what could she possibly want from him? What did she mean by marvelous?_

Cersei glanced up and caught Jaime’s eye. He looked away swiftly, hoping she’d not noticed he’d been staring. He turned to walk away and nearly stepped straight into his father.

* * *

Tywin had spent his night quietly watching his children. He'd always raised them to honour the family name - to put it above all else. Family was the only thing that mattered. If his son refused his lordship, the Lannister name would die, as he wouldn't dream of allowing Tyrion to carry it on alone. 

Tywin wasn't a _total_ monster, though he knew his children often thought of him that way. He could relate to them somewhat. In fact, Jaime reminded Tywin of himself at times. 

Jaime was tall, broad shouldered and strong. He was muscular, but not overly so, and quite handsome. Jaime could have the hand of any lady he pleased. But he'd never seemed interested. 

Tywin had once worried that perhaps Jaime were of another... _persuasion. _But he hadn't shown much interest in anyone at all, not that Tywin had seen. The knighthood suited him. Tywin could hardly deny that. And Jaime had the temperament for it, too: he was bold and confident, audacious, perhaps to a fault. But he was also _kind._ He'd always loved Tyrion as nobody else could. When he killed, Tywin knew from speaking to him when he'd been but a _boy_, Jaime thought of the _man_ he was killing - of his family, of who would miss him, of the way he was changing the world by plucking even a single soul from it. But he'd never lost the stomach for it. _Perhaps that's my influence,_ Tywin thought - that although he sees these men as people, he's still willing to kill them for the family name. He wondered if Jaime still thought of the man under the armour when he killed now that he'd done it countless times. 

Tywin was proud of the swordsman Jaime had become. His son was one of the most feared knights in the kingdoms. But he continued to disappoint Tywin by the way he spurned his inheritance - everything Tywin had worked so hard to pass on to him.

Tonight, Tywin observed, both Jaime and his sister, in all their Lannister finery, looked heart-wrenchingly like their mother. Cersei especially, with her waves golden hair. It hurt Tywin to look at her because of it. It so often did. 

He remembered the sweet girl she had been in her childhood. She'd been her mother's pet, always trailing but a few steps behind Joanna, her little golden shadow. 

When Joanna had died, he believed it gutted Cersei more than even himself. Her mother had been her window to the world. Everything she'd come to know about being a woman she'd learned from her mother, and when she'd died, nobody could fill her place because nobody else was nearly good enough. Tywin could understand that. 

He had tried to give his daughter what he could; an education in the finer things, finishing lessons. She was so very beautiful that Tywin knew she would be queen one day. But he also knew that Cersei was unsatisfied with that. It wasn't good enough to sit the throne if all she would do was _sit, _and not even on _the_ throne. He knew she wanted more. Perhaps that, too, was his influence. But that was the world they lived in. Women were meant to serve their men. To allow her to think otherwise would be to fail her. Her mother surely would have taught her the same. 

She would do her duty, Tywin knew that, as she'd always been the one to listen to him. She'd been the one to understand the importance of their name. 

Tywin sighed. If only it had been Jaime instead. 

"Father." Jaime said, bowing his head.

“Your chances look good tomorrow.” Tywin said to his son, and he was disappointed in himself when he saw the surprise on Jaime's face that he was speaking to him of anything other than his possible departure from the Kingsguard. But in truth, that _was_ all that mattered. 

Jaime nodded in turn. “I would bet on myself.” He said, flashing his teeth. 

Tywin almost smiled. 

“How’s your sword arm?” He asked Jaime. “I know the maester said something of the tendons being strained…”

“That was a few years ago.” Jaime said, looking down. He’d almost rather his father just go straight for the kill and ask him of his decision. This small talk was bloody painful. 

Tywin nodded as if he’d known that and were asking anyway.

“And how is your sister?” He asked, watching as Jaime’s eyes flicked promptly up to meet his.

“She’s well, from what I have heard.” Jaime said, unobtrusively. “…She seems… well.”

“The child too, I take it.” Tywin said in response. 

Jaime nodded. “But perhaps you should ask her yourself.” He said. 

The men stood there awkwardly for a breath, before Tywin cleared his throat. “So I’m assuming you’ve come to a decision regarding inheritance.”

Jaime nodded, knowing this was coming. Knowing this was all his father really cared to speak about. 

“I will keep my place in the Kingsguard and honour my oath.” Jaime said, surely, standing tall. He greatly enjoyed the two or so inches he had over his father. 

Tywin winced.“If you throw this away… What I’m offering you… what I’m _giving _you, it’s tantamount to throwing your name in the dirt. You do realise that.” 

Jaime huffed. “We’ve had this conversation.” He told Tywin. 

“No, I don’t believe we have.” Tywin countered, raising his voice. “No son of mine would _ever_ refuse his father. No son of mine would turn his back on his family the way you have. You think you’re being so bloody _honourable?_ What have you done in your years, Jaime? What? Killed a king. Stabbed him in the back. The very king you were sworn to protect! And here you are still, blathering on about oaths and honour, wasting away while lesser men rule, fight, _command. _You are _nothing _here, can’t you see that?”

“I don’t know how many times you want me to tell you, I killed him _for you._” Jaime spat. He didn’t know how to answer for the rest of what Tywin had brought up. It was true, perhaps, but Jaime cared not for ruling or commanding, and he found he had his fair share of fighting, still. He needed nothing, wanted nothing, save his sister. If she would stay then so would he. Legacies be damned.

“I intend to keep my oath.” He said finally. 

“I’ll speak with you tomorrow.” Tywin said, largely ignoring Jaime’s statement, and turning abruptly to leave the hall. He was seething, and unwilling to cause a scene amongst the crowds. Jaime had always been stubborn, but never _incorrigible. _Tywin would not give in. Not yet. 

Jaime looked for his sister when he'd finished speaking with his father, but he did not see her.  He went outside to cool off, fuming from his talk with Tywin. 

There were a group of knights gathered in a corner drinking. One, Jaime could tell by his height, was The Mountain.  He paid them no mind until he heard mention of her name: _Cersei. _ The men were laughing and The Mountain was talking about what he would _do _to her, given the chance. 

Jaime, utterly exhausted at this point but rageful as ever, shouted over the men. 

"Is that so?" 

The group turned to him, many of them falling silent. 

Gregor stepped forward. 

"Aye and I'll fuck you with my sword afterward, kingslayer." 

Jaime stepped forward, so the men were chest to chest. "You could try." Jaime saidcalmly. 

"I bet you'd get wetter than your sister." Gregor laughed, and Jaime saw a few flashed smiles from the Knights around him.

Had he not mentioned Cersei, Jaime might have settled for a few clever comments, but instead, he lunged for the man, ready for another fight. The other knights there held the two of them back.

"I'll tell you what." The Mountain laughed as it took six men to restrain him. 

"You joust me tomorrow. Winner gets the other man's sword."

"Done." Jaime said, eager for the chance to drive the bloody giant into the ground. 

"Rodrek, tell Robert, he'll piss himself laughing." Gregor ordered one of the Knights. He was likely right, Robert would love nothing more than to see _the Kingslayer _pounded into the dirt. 

Jaime sighed. He cared not of Robert, but if that buffoon knew, so would his sister. 

As he made his way back to his chambers that night, Jaime ran into Cersei. She was taking to a maid, and Jaime meant to sneak by, knowing she'd heard about his near scuffle and impending joust with Ser Gregor. He had just moved past her when she called after him. "Ser Jaime, a quick word, please."

Jaime stopped in his tracks, grimacing. He dreaded this far more than the joust. 

Cersei dismissed the maid and pulled Jaime into a small chamber, closing the door behind them.

As soon as she was sure they were alone, she slapped him across the face. "_Ser Gregor, _Jaime? Truly, have you gone mad?"

"He was talking about you. You should have heard what he was saying." Jaime grumbled, his cheek burning where she'd hit him. 

"I don't care what he was doing!" She exclaimed. She'd overheard _many_ men say _many_ things about her. "Robert tells me you're meant to _joust_?" 

"Only if someone else doesn't put me out first." Jaime pointed out. 

Cersei shook her head. "I can't believe you."

"What were you talking to him about?" Jaime said, trying to turn the conversation away from him and put her on the defensive. 

"What?" She laughed. "Are you jealous?"

The words wounded Jaime and pushed him over the cliff he'd been teetering on since he'd spoken to his father. 

"Of course I'm bloody jealous!" Jaime barked. 

Cersei's eyes widened.

"You're married to another man, carrying his child! Am I supposed to be ok with that? I'm just supposed to accept that?"

Cersei felt her stomach flip. She'd seen Jaime this upset before, but never at _her_. 

"I _love_ you! Do you understand that? Have you ever even thought about what that feels like for me? To hear him _fucking _you whilst I guard the door for him? To smile and nod and pretend I'm happy that it's _his _child in you and not _mine_? And then to watch you smiling and laughing with every other man in the room but _me_, what, because people might find it strange that a brother and sister would enjoy talking? Just bloody _talking_, Cersei? I can't even have that! So yes, I'm jealous! I'm sorry for that! You likely won't have to concern yourself with my foolery much longer if Gregor gets his bloody way. And if not, there's always The Rock. I'm sure father will be thrilled."

Cersei had just been standing there in utter disbelief at her brother. Perhaps she'd never seen him this angry. Would he really leave her there alone?

Jaime just panted now, his face red. He took one last deep breath and, upon realising he was shaking, he left his sister there, slamming the door behind him.


	11. Incendiary

Jaime woke the next day feeling as though he'd had too much to drink, though he knew that wasn't the cause for the sick feeling in his stomach.  He got ready for the days events as he normally did, trying not to think of Cersei as he did so.  It proved to be a cruel dilemma as he normally thought of her to calm his nerves, but she was the reason his nerves were so frayed in the first place.  He dressed, and readied himself, even pinning on his favourite breast pin; a golden lion with ruby eyes that Cersei had gifted him when he'd been knighted.  He couldn't escape; her she was all over him. He could almost feel her hands on him. Her hair on his shoulder, her blood running through his veins.

There was a knock on his door and Jaime hoped it would be her. He wanted to apologise for being so harsh. He knew none of this was her fault, but true as that may be, it had felt bloody good to express his anger. 

When Jaime opened the door though, it was his brother standing there, not his sister.

"Move aside you bloody imbecile." Tyrion said, pushing past his brother and shutting the door securely behind him.  "I always thought you rather cavalier, brother, but I'm afraid I may have been mistaken. I think you may _actually_ be mad." 

Jaime rolled his eyes. "That's what Cersei said." 

Tyrion nodded, smiling softly. "For once she and I see _eye to eye_." 

Jaime thought it was a clever pun but wasn't in the mood to laugh. 

"He may very well _murder _you today, Jaime." Tyrion said, more seriously.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence." Jaime mumbled, falling back into a leather chair to pull his boots on. 

"All for the sake of what?" Tyrion asked. "Pride?" 

Jaime shook his head.

"Tell me this isn't about _her._" Tyrion sighed. 

"Who?" Jaime asked, playing dumb to annoy Tyrion, or maybe to test him, to see if he'd actually _say it._

Tyrion just hung his head. "Honestly, brother, I'm just here to wish you luck. Or maybe bid you farewell. Both, I suppose - if it should come to that."

Jaime rolled his eyes.  "It's not because of _anything, _he said, wanting to clarify, "save that I think it would be bloody satisfying to knock that arsehole off his horse." 

It wasn't true and it didn't feel good to lie about it but Jaime didn't want to die without his brother's respect. 

“If you say so.” Tyrion said through a tight-lipped smile. 

Jaime stood. "Anyway, I suppose I should have breakfast, seeing as it might be my last meal and all."

Tyrion stepped aside and motioned toward the door. "After you, brother." 

He followed Jaime into the hall for breakfast.  Cersei was there, having her meal next to Robert.  She looked up as Jaime and Tyrion walked in the room and tracked Jaime with her eyes, following him all the way to his seat at the other end of the table.  When he finally allowed himself to look up at her, she looked away. 

Cersei wasn't sure how to feel. She felt guilty, embarrassed, angry, sad... All sorts of negative emotions, and most of them she knew were her doing. But what she couldn’t stomach, what she didn’t understand, was why he felt the need to joust the bloody _Mountain_. 

_He’s going to die._

Jaime watched Cersei as she stared at her plate, not touching anything. Even now it bothered him. He couldn’t help caring. _She should eat._ But they always shared everything, and, perhaps her stomach were as sick as his were. He could hardly choke down a glass of water, never mind the food on his plate. 

And then he heard the scraping of a chair. Cersei stood and began walking toward him. Oh Gods, he nearly lost his stomach then and there. She must be furious with him. 

But as she walked toward Jaime, he noticed her purposefully avoiding eye contact. She walked right past him and out of the hall. Robert, much to Jaime’s surprise, followed shortly after. 

“What was that about?” Tyrion leaned in to ask Jaime. 

Jaime shrugged. “Where is father?”

“Looking to say your goodbyes to our Lord father? How sweet of you.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Never mind. I should go.”  Jaime stood and Tyrion watched him. 

“Jaime.” He said, seriously. 

Jaime turned to him. 

“Don’t die.”

Jaime huffed a laugh and nodded as his brother stood to embrace him.

* * *

Jaime had finished suiting up in the tent by the field. Almost all the other knights were there as well, and Jaime could hear the buzzing of people outside as they began to populate the stands. 

Most of the knights ignored Jaime. Some of them sniggered in his face. 

“Hope you had one last good drink, Kingslayer.” One of them sneered. And then another, “Don’t worry, too much - probably won’t hurt for long.”

Jaime held his head high, knowing that he’d be toppling these men shortly. 

The horn sounded, and two men went out, with only one coming back.

Jaime waited and waited. He listened to the crowed as they cheered and booed and screamed and gasped. He wondered if Cersei were as nervous as he was. He bet she looked lovely sitting there on her throne. It annoyed him slightly but the only way he could take his mind off of his nerves was to think about Cersei. 

His first match was against Ser Aelin. Jaime rode out on his horse and found his sister sitting by Robert. He looked rather unamused for _Robert Baratheon_ at a joust in his honour. But Jaime didn’t think much about it when he saw his sister. She was breathtaking in her ivy colored dress, cut into a deep triangle to expose her chest, her lion necklace proudly on display, despite the dainty stag crown she wore atop her head. 

Her hair was long and wavy, almost unruly, and it reminded Jaime of the way it looked after they’d fucked. And then her skin, it was flushed the same way. She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t have… not on the day he - her brother, her twin, her_ lover_, might _die_. She wouldn’t have. She didn’t even like Robert. She wouldn’t. Please, please, no. This was too painful to think about. Had he hurt her so much that she’d sought comfort in that _stag? _No. It couldn’t have been that. But he _was_ going to father her child. Perhaps she… perhaps she’d decided that she _wanted_ him. No. No. No. He was just being paranoid. His brain was running on fear, conjuring up worst possible scenarios. There was no way.

The horn sounded and the crowd stood and jeered, “Kingslayer!” Someone shouted. 

Jaime was still watching Cersei as she looked at him. It hit Jaime right in the chest, and he thought he might as well just die then and there. But no. He wouldn’t. He would show her. She was wrong about him. He could do this. And if she didn't want him… well, he couldn’t think of that now or he could forget about The Mountain altogether. He’d readily allow Ser Aelin to kill him if that were the case. 

But he didn’t. The horn sounded again and he found his muscle memory was enough to guide him, to get his horse galloping, his lance up and out, to dodge and lunge at the right times, and that was it. It came so naturally Jaime hadn’t even realised it was over until he turned to see his opponent on the ground. 

The crowd cheered, and Jaime’s eyes went instinctively to his sister. She sat there unmoving, expressionless, almost in a daze.  Jaime tried to get her to meet his gaze, but she wouldn’t. He gave up eventually, trodding back to the tent. 

He was up a number of times after that, and each went the same way as the first; distraction by his sister, muscle memory stepping in to aid him in the competition. It wasn’t difficult, just painful. And it wounded him more each time he looked up to see that his sister was seemingly completely indifferent toward his victories. 

There were a few more jousts, and then, the final. It was Jaime versus Ser Lachlan, and the crowd was going mad. Of course, Jaime thought, any smart man would bet on the him. He was the Kingslayer. As much as the crowd loved to hate him, they knew that he wasn’t a man to be messed with. 

He looked at Cersei one more time. She watched him now, her green eyes piercing his. He wished they could be alone. There was so much more he wanted to say to her. He wanted to tell her that yes, he was angry, but he still loved her. He would always love her. He hadn’t actually meant that he would leave her, he was just… he just wanted her to know what it was like for him. He wanted her to see how much he cared. He would give up The Rock for her a thousand times over. It meant nothing to him. Nothing meant anything without her. She _had _to know it. He _had_ to tell her. Which meant he had to _live. _If he ever wanted to talk to her again, he had to _live. _

The horn sounded, and Jaime’d barely heard it. He started late and his lance was shaking. 

He heard the crowd gasp before he even realised he was in pain. Lachlan had clipped his shoulder, right through his armour, through the mail, and he was bleeding. He could hardly feel it.

Cersei was on her feet, a head above everyone now, unable to stay seated, her brother’s pain was her pain. 

“Sit _down, _woman.” Robert growled, pulling at her arm. 

She yanked it away, her hands going to her belly. 

“_Sit.”_ Tywin leaned in and said to her, sternly, agreeing with Robert. 

She ignored him. The crowd watched as Jaime shook out his shoulder, turning and readying himself for another charge. They  erupted for Lachlan, eager to see someone surmount the Kingslayer. 

Cersei stood still, clutching her belly, eyes fixed on her brother, willing him to _fight_. 

_Please, Jaime. Please, please, please._ She pleaded over and over in her head. 

Another charge, and unbelievably, Lachlan caught Jaime again, grazing his side this time.

“Fuck.” Jaime cursed. He’d felt that one. 

He looked up in the crowd to see his sister there, standing. She was standing for _him_. She still cared. At least a little. He drank in the image of her standing there, taller than all the noblemen in the seats that surrounded her. 

She stood for him, and so he would fight for her. 

Jaime took a deep breath. _For Cersei._ He would _win_ for her. He would. Suddenly, he wasn’t thinking about The Mountain. He wasn’t thinking about dying. All he thought of was _her_. She was the only thing that mattered.

The men charged and Jaime grunted as he drove his lance with all his strength into Lachlan’s abdomen. He heard the man gasp as he fell from his horse and the crowd erupted. Jaime was unsure if they were excited or upset, but he  couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He laughed and turned back to where his sister had been, but she was gone, her space unoccupied now. Jaime’s smile fell. 

Robert stood and the crowd quieted. 

“I’ve been made aware of a joust that would take place outside of the competition involving Ser Gregor of House Clegane and Ser Jaime of House Lannister.” He boomed in an uncharacteristically sober manner. “This will not take place today.” 

The crowd booed. 

“Should anyone feel the need to protest, they’re more than welcome to take it up with the Kingsguard.” The knights appeared, flanking the stands, hands on the pommels of their swords.

The crowd quieted. 

“Congratulate your champion.” Robert said shortly, gesturing at Jaime before turning and exiting the stands. Tywin followed shortly after him.

Jaime sat there on his horse, searching the crowd until he found Tyrion who just looked at him, confused. 

Jaime waited a moment before dropping his lance and riding away, the crowd shouting after him. 


	12. Inflamed

Jaime rode to gardens. He spent the rest of the afternoon there, wanting to be on his own. He wanted to stop thinking about disappointing his father, his sister, his brother, the whole of Westeros. He wanted to stop feeling like he owed everyone everything. He needed time to feel sorry for himself. He’d barely even acknowledged the wound on his shoulder and the cut on his side. 

Jaime was sitting in the grass, his back leaned up against a tree when Tyrion fought his way through the tall grasses to get to him. 

“Thought I might find you here.” He said, smiling at Jaime. 

Jaime did not smile back. 

“Oh, cheer up.” Tyrion said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve won the match, and you’ll live to see another day. What could possibly be wrong? Other than the… ” Tyrion gestured at the dried blood on Jaime's armour from his wounds.

What could be wrong? Where could Jaime even begin? He was in love with his _sister_, for starters. And she was pregnant with another man’s child… a man that happened to be the King of Westeros. He had joined the Kingsguard to be close to her, spurning his father and his inheritance, and the whole of the kingdoms knew him as _the Kingslayer, _and now, a bloody coward. 

Jaime could have said those things. He could have told Tyrion, but he didn’t want to burden his brother with his problems. And he didn’t want Tyrion to have to lie about he and Cersei if questioned. At least his little brother had plausible deniability as it were. 

So Jaime simply shrugged. 

“What made Robert change his mind?” Tyrion asked. 

Jaime shrugged again. “Father, I’d bet.”

Tyrion nodded. “That would certainly make sense.”

“That’s just what I fucking needed.” Jaime spat, bitterly, his rage bubbling to the surface.

“What are you on about? You’ve just avoided certain death_._” Tyrion said, his eyes wide. 

Jaime scoffed. “Nice to know you have such faith in me, brother.”

“He’s a fucking giant, Jaime!” Tyrion said defensively. If there was anyone Tyrion believed in in this cruel world it was Jaime. His big brother was brave and strong and handsome, and Tyrion generally believed that Jaime could do _anything_, but this was The Mountain. He was glad that his brother was here and safe, and mostly unharmed. That was all that mattered to him. 

“I’ll be the laughing stalk of Westeros, daddy bailing me out of my own fucking battles.” Jaime said, mocking himself. “It’s bloody ridiculous.” 

“You're his heir. His only heir. I don’t know what else you’d expect.” Tyrion said. It hurt him every time he thought about it. But he understood now his brother’s displeasure. “I’m sorry.” He added. 

Jaime nodded because he wasn’t sure what else to do. 

“Have you seen father?” He asked Tyrion. 

Tyrion nodded. “Packing up, I believe. Getting ready for the trip back.” 

Jaime stood. “I’ll go… see him off, I suppose.”

Tyrion bit his cheek. “Jaime, it may be in poor taste to-“

“It was in _poor taste_ to fight my battle for me. He’s always on about how he wants people to respect the Lannister name, but then he goes and bloody does something like this?” Jaime was waving his arms about like a madman, positively furious.  “What does he think he’s playing at? Even if I _were_ to rule The Rock nobody would take me seriously!”

Tyrion shook his head. “You’re still Ser Jaime Lannister. You’ve still won every tourney you’ve competed in. You're still one of the most skilled swordsmen in the Kingdoms. Trust me, brother, anyone that disrespects you enough to challenge you will be quick to realise their mistake.”

Tyrion’s words gave Jaime pause. He was right. Jaime was still better than all of those knights. He was more skilled than the whole of the Kingsguard put together. Fuck anyone who doubted that. 

Jaime nodded and clicked his tongue as though he were deep in thought. “Thank you, brother.” He said to Tyrion, who held his head high at the praise. 

But Jaime was still going to talk to his father. 

He left Tyrion there and stalked off to go find him. 

* * *

Tywin was, like Tyrion had said, packing for the trip back home. 

“Father.” Jaime said, entering the chamber without knocking. 

Tywin was in the middle of organising some papers on the table in front of him. He looked up at Jaime expectantly. 

“I wanted to say good bye. And I wanted to tell you that you can take The Rock and all the bloody gold and titles that come with it and burn them all to the Seven Hells because I fight my own battles. I’m a _man, _not some bloody child who needs his father’s protection!”

Jaime was hot, still in his armour. 

Tywin cocked his head, staring at his son for a brief moment before nodding. 

“Very well.” He said. 

Jaime was surprised. _Was that really it?_

“You are my son.” Tywin said as though he had to convince Jaime of this fact. “I cannot force you to honour your family name, but you _are_ my son, and you are young still. I understand you want to fight. I understand that you want a part in the excitement that perhaps a lordship cannot fully offer you. But that fire in your belly will soon be quenched. And when this happens,_because_ you are my son, _because_ you are a _Lannister_, Robert has given his word that he will release you from your vows and allow you to take up your rightful place as Lord of Casterly Rock.” Tywin held his head high, confident, as always, that he would have things as he wanted. 

Jaime wasn’t sure what to say. He was relieved, he supposed. 

“But if you were referring to that asinine joust with Ser Gregor, I was not the one to interfere, though I would have if your sister hadn’t enough sense to do it first. We’re_ Lannisters. _Lannisters don’t act like fools.” Tywin’s eyes cut daggers into Jaime, but he was too numb to notice. _Cersei. _It had been Cersei… 

Jaime grunted some bumbling goodbye at his father, turning and storming from the chamber then in search of his sister. He was too upset to feel the relief that Tywin had granted. 

* * *

Cersei had made herself unavailable. She'd told her servants she wanted no visitors. She'd retired to her chambers alone, but Robert had soon joined her.  Cersei was curled up in bed, the curtains drawn. She was thankful that the match had been cancelled, but she knew there would be fallout. She knew Jaime would be unhappy. _That haughty halfwit._ The names she called him were only somewhat in earnest. She was glad he was safe. That was the long and short of it. 

Robert cleared his throat loudly when he'd entered the room. 

Cersei closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep, but Robert settled down in bed with her, pressing himself against her backside. He was hard.  Cersei tensed immediately and Robert ran his hand over her side, smoothing over her curves. 

"I'm tired." She whispered weakly, knowing it wouldn't made an iota of difference to the stag. It wasn't true, anyway. She wasn't tired. She was sad. 

"You weren't so tired just this morning." Robert grunted, grinding his hips against her. She tried to quell her disgust. 

"Go fuck one of your whores." She hissed resentfully. It was not something they often acknowledged. 

"I want to fuck a queen." Robert mumbled, his tongue in her ear, ignoring what would normally have made him irate. 

Cersei gripped the blanket, blinking back tears."Please, Robert." It was barely a whisper, "not now." It wasn't like Cersei to resort to pleading, she just couldn’t do it again. _Not now_. 

Robert ignored her, as he so often did, continuing to grind against her until she could no longer bear it. 

She threw her elbow back and caught him in the chest, a harsh “Oof.” Forced from him. 

Cersei stood immediately in an effort to make it out of the room without Robert retaliating, but he was quick. He stood and grabbed her by the wrist, holding her in place, crushing her bones in his hand. Cersei tried her best not to flinch, not to show fear. 

“I told you I want to fuck a queen.” He said evenly. 

Cersei batted her eyes. “And I told you… Not. Now.” She broke the last part down for him because he seemed to be too dense to understand.

He squeezed her wrist tighter and she just stared at him defiantly.

His face grew red with rage and he seized her chin in his free hand, holding her by the jaw, squeezing too hard. 

“I swear it to the Gods, woman… Were you not with my child…”

He was shaking now, doing his best to override the urge to hurt her. 

“Go.” He rasped finally, pushing her away, causing her to stumble back and catch herself on a table. 

Cersei’s eyes burned hot with tears but she would not let Robert see them. She hurried from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. 

It was not often that Robert frightened her. He was even _good_ to her some of the time, but the other times, the bad times, were terrifying and _infuriating_ because try as she might, Robert was over twice her size. It wasn't a fair match. _Like Jaime and The Mountain, _she thought. 

That’s what had frightened her so; she’d known what it was like to go up against someone that much bigger. It had never worked out well for her. She would not let that happen to her brother. He was acting like such an imbecile - far too prideful. What was he trying to prove anyhow? 

Cersei had never cared if he won or lost. He was still one of the greatest swordsmen the realm would ever see. She just wanted him _alive._ Surely he knew that… 

She was walking quickly through the halls of the keep, not completely sure where she was headed. Perhaps to the overlook at the very top of the castle. There, she could look out over the city. Sometimes seeing all those people below her, how tiny they were compared to her where she was, high up on the wall, helped her feel less small herself. 

She’d made it halfway there when she turned a corner to see Jaime moving toward her, wearing the same look of rage Robert had been sporting. 

He stopped when he saw her. 

“We need to speak.” He said lowly. 

“Not now.” She repeated her words from earlier. 

But Jaime approached her, taking her arm and pulling her into an empty chamber. She winced when he grabbed her where Robert had, though Jaime’s grip was much more forgiving. 

He closed the door behind them. 

“I can fight my own battles.” He said, calmly, repeating his sentiment from earlier as well. “I don’t need you to worm me out of them.” 

Cersei shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Her voice was quieter than usual.

“Father told me it was you, so stop acting like you’re so innocent.” Jaime scathed. “You’re always so _bloody _innocent! Nothing’s ever your fault, Cersei! It’s always whatever _you_ need, whatever _you_ want. You can’t just control me! I’m not one of your little pawns so stop acting like father and treating me like I am!”

Cersei felt the tears burn her eyes again. This was just like the other night. She was not used to Jaime speaking to her this way…

“You would have _died._” She said.

“And that would have been _my _decision at least!"

“If you wish so badly to kill yourself then I suggest you do it on your own. I will not have people thinking the Kingsguard is full of such buffoonery as to set up their own competitions outside of their King’s orders. If one of us looks weak, we _all_ look weak.” Cersei was fuming. 

She had been through her reasoning over and over, and of the many reasons for which she'd stopped the match, she weighed this one lowest on the scale. 

Foremost in her mind was protecting her brother from his own stupid, _stupid_ ego, but she would not concede that. It was why he was upset in the first place, wasn’t it?  She scoffed to herself. Men and their pride. How many men have died pretending they were smarter, stronger, better than they actually were? She would not let her brother be one of them. Not so long as there was something she could do to prevent it. 

“That’s rubbish and you know it!” He shouted. 

“You’re a skilled swordsmen, a feared knight.” She spat her compliment like it burned her tongue to say it. “And I will not have you snuffed out simply because you are too prideful to admit that someone might be able to best you at a cretinous _game._” Her voice was full of venom. 

“It’s not your call to make.” He hissed, trying to match her vitriol. 

“If Robert is going to sit idly by while his regency goes hurdling into oblivion then it _is _my call. If I’m the only one willing to do anything to prevent it then I will _make _that call.” 

That, she felt, was true. But she also wanted to say; _you’re mine and so it is my call. If you’re mine then I must stop it. _But perhaps she was too prideful as well. 

Cersei shook her head, blinking back tears. This was all too much. 

“And how did you manipulate Robert into doing your bidding?” He spat.

Cersei snapped her head up to look at him, uncaring, now if he saw her weakness.

“Did you fuck him?” 

“Jaime…”

He took a step closer.  “Did you Fuck him?” He asked again, with more urgency. 

How dare he ask her that.

She wanted to explain to him that she’d done it _for him_ but she knew he wouldn’t see it that way, especially not now where he was so upset. 

But Robert was her husband_, _and she was carrying his child. This shouldn’t exactly have been _news _to Jaime. And it seemed that he read that in her face, as he amended his statement.

“Did you fuck him so that he would stop the joust?” 

Did that make it worse? She wondered, if she fucked him to gain something rather than out of duty.

"Did you?" He shouted in her face, his cheeks red. 

Cersei slapped him. It seemed to be the trend of late.

"_He's my husband_." She snarled. 

Jaime stared at her for a moment before slamming his fist against the stone wall at her back. Cersei jumped.

There were tears in her brother's eyes. 

"I told you I would kill him." He said gruffly. 

Cersei shook her head. "And I told you _no._"

Jaime looked down at his hands and Cersei followed his gaze. They were shaking again. It made him feel weak. That he couldn't protect his sister made him feel weak, that she fucked that stag because she didn't think he could handle his own battles made him feel weak. Jaime wasn't good at feeling weak. Cersei knew this, and so she sighed. 

"Jaime... This isn't working." 

Jaime looked up at her, searching her face for the true meaning behind her words. 

"We can't do this anymore." 

"We... What are you saying?" He asked. 

"Go be Lord of Castery. There's nothing more for us but pain and suffering."

Jaime shook his head, incredulous. "I wasn’t actually... I'm not going to leave."

"Then stay if you must. _That _is not my call." She said coldly. "And next time you want to kill yourself I'll be sure not to trouble myself with stopping it." 

Cersei could hardly stand to look at her brother. She sidestepped, working her way out from between him and the wall and walking calmly from the room and down the hall until she found a small closet. She ducked inside and locked the door, perching herself on a crate in the dark right corner. She stared at the wall for a moment trying to comprehend what she'd just said. 

She didn't want Jaime to go. She truly didn't. But she didn't think he'd ever be happy, not ever truly satisfied unless Robert was out of the picture. And that was something she couldn't risk. Not for Jaime and not for herself.

She hadn't meant what she'd said about killing himself, she'd just been so _mad. _She'd wanted to hurt him, and that was the best way she knew how. But if he died she knew that would too. 

As she sat there thinking on this, she suddenly felt a quickening in her belly. It was the first time she'd felt anything at all, and she wasn't even sure it was real until it happened again. 

She crumpled forward hugging her stomach and beginning to sob. She hadn’t the time for this foolishness. She hadn’t the time for these back and forth larks. She had someone else to think of now. The little life she grew inside of her suddenly felt like the most important thing there ever was - stag or lion. Lineage be damned, It was _her _child. 

"It's just you and I little one." She whispered, tears soaking her cheeks.


	13. Flames

Cersei kept to herself for much of the next month. She would see Jaime at meals and Tyrion in passing, but she hardly spoke to either of her siblings. J aime tried to get her alone to speak about things, but Cersei would slip away as often as she could, uninterested in anything he had to say.  Jaime would come to her room some nights when he knew Robert was away, but Cersei kept her door shut and locked. It was incredibly frustrating for both of them.  Jaime shouted at her to open the door sometimes, when his anger got the best of him. But she wouldn’t. Cersei stayed in her room, curled up in bed, hugging her belly, feeling the little child inside that loved, now, to move about. 

She tried not to feel sad, in case the baby could feel that - the ache she tried to ignore deep in the core of her being; the feeling of emptiness at the absence of her other half. She tried to be as strong as she knew she could, but it was difficult with her brother just outside her door. She missed him, missed his arms around her, missed the way he would hold her. She longed for someone to hold her, or kiss her, tell her that she would be a good mother, that she would be alright and that her baby would be safe, that the birth would go as planned. In the dark of the night she would wake to visions of what happened to her mother. She worried that she would suffer the same fate. She worried that she might never get to meet the child inside of her - this new part of her that she already loved more than words could describe. And so she wished she had someone - Jaime - to help her with all of those things. But she was also stubborn, and she refused to entertain the idea that it had happened - that _they_ had happened - in any real way other than in brief acknowledgement … and perhaps the unintentional day dream here and there.

Cersei promised herself that she would be enough for her child. He would need for nobody but her. And in this way, he would be stronger. He would be stronger than his father, stronger than his uncle. He would be stronger, even, than she. 

"Is the babe healthy?" Robert would ask, after her now increasingly frequent appointments with the maester. Cersei would respond the same way each day; "as a lion." 

To which Robert would mutter something under his breath about the child being a stag first. But Cersei couldn't be bothered with it. She knew that was untrue. It was her blood that ran through the child's veins, her breath filling its little lungs, her heartbeat that lulled it to sleep each night, and her gentle cooing that it heard each morning when she felt it wake, kicking about inside of her. The child - _her _child, would be a stag in name only. Her child was a _lion._

* * *

Cersei had heard, over the weeks that passed after the joust, of a rebellion South of King’s Landing. She’d not thought much about it as, for one, she’d been rather preoccupied. And for two, she’d trusted that the houses that shared the perimeter of Shipbreaker’s Bay would put the riots down straightaway, but when she heard that Robert would be hosting a dinner party of sorts to discuss the matter, she was rather taken aback that it continued to be an issue at all, especially one worth calling a council over.

But call a council he did.

The small crowd mingled about the hall making small talk as they awaited one of Robert’s famous dinners.  Cersei stood by her seat at the table, longing to sit down to rest her aching feet. 

And then she felt him behind her. There was something about his very _presence_; she could sense it, the quick zapping of the air, the immediate draw in whichever direction he was; _Jaime._

She turned around before he could even speak her name. 

He looked lovely tonight. He wore a long light grey leather jacket that resembled his Kingsguard armour. It was open a bit at his chest, and Cersei could see the muscle there, under the maroon shirt he wore. His jacket was synched at his waist by a belt, and his breeches were dark grey. 

Jaime seemed taken aback by her, and she stifled back a smile, enjoying the visual proof of the hold she had over him, but lamenting that she felt the same way of him, all muscle and leather. 

“I want to speak with you.” He said after finding his bearings. His hands seemed to flutter about, unsure of where they wanted to land; either his belt or her chair or her hand, perhaps, but he wouldn’t insult her that way. He knew she didn’t want that. 

Cersei’s eyes fell to his hands, and then returned to his face, meeting his. 

“No.” She said simply, her confidence, her grace, unwavering. It was true, she did not want to speak. She wanted to continue being cross with him because it was easy, and it was what was best for her child. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to pretend that they were over, even as her insides were on _fire_. She wanted him as much as she always had. 

“Cersei.” The sound of her name on his lips was enough to make her weak in the knees and spike her anger all at once. 

“Don’t.” She hissed, grasping her stomach. He reached out, almost as if he would touch her there, and it looked like he wanted to, the way he was eyeing her, but she stood firm, and he was discouraged. 

“I _need _to speak with you, Cersei, please.”

“Whatever you need to say to me, I don’t want to hear it, Jaime. We’ve said it all already.”

She walked away calmly, before her brother could protest, though she bit her cheek so hard it bled.

Why couldn’t he just leave her be? She could still hear his accusations ringing in her ears; _Did you fuck him?_

He asked her like she’d wanted to. It was _his_ stupidity, _his_ ego that brought the trouble, and she was left to fix it in any way she could. She was still bloody furious that he had the audacity to ask her that, to _blame_ her for that. And he’d pretend to be up on his high horse, offering his sword as if his killing Robert were an actual solution. 

She shook her head. No. She was done with this nonsense. She was done entertaining it.

She exhaled one last shaky breath before sauntering over to her husband’s littlest brother. 

“Yes, unfortunately, it seems as though it’s becoming a bit more of a nuisance than we’d originally thought.” Renly was telling her after she’d questioned him on the state of the rebellions. He was a young boy, still, a child, but had come in place of his and Robert’s middle brother, Stannis, who would stay in Storm’s End to oversee some of the forces there. And he was bright, Cersei could tell.

“Not fully sure what we’re to do about it ourselves, if I’m honest.”

Cersei made to ask him what he meant, but they were interrupted by Tyrion. 

“Renly, my boy!” He exclaimed, pulling the lad toward him for an embrace. 

Renly was barely taller than Tyrion and Cersei wondered if her brother liked or hated that. Tyrion hadn’t exactly been familiar with the youngest Boratheon, but ale _and his shining personality, _as he would claim, made him rather amenable to anyone. 

Renly laughed uncomfortably. 

“Oh, has my sister been taunting you?” He looked up at Cersei as if just noticing her presence.She narrowed her eyes at her brother. 

“We youngest must stick together! We’ll be the only ones left when all the decrepit end up killing one another.” He smiled at Cersei. 

“Have you been to see Ser Barristan yet? I’m sure he’d love to share some war stories with you. I believe he’s just there.” Tyrion pointed rudely across the room, all but shooing the boy away. 

Renly, seemingly intimidated, made off to find Selmy. 

Cersei cleared her throat, her arms loosely crossed and resting on her stomach, the picture of maternal sovereignty with her stag shawl draped over her shoulders and the gold of her crown, to match not only her intricately braided hair, but the embroidery of her dusky pink gown as well, cut sleeveless at her shoulders.

“We were in the middle of a conversation.” She sighed. 

“I have a better one for you.” Tyrion said, tossing his head back to down the last bit of ale in his mug. 

He shook his curly hair out, and looked up seriously at his sister. 

“Jaime needs to speak with you.” 

Cersei rolled her eyes. “What, are you his little messenger?” She laughed at the drollness of it all. 

“But if you won't hear it from him, perhaps you'll hear it from me…”

"When have I ever preferred to hear something from you?" She asked, caustically. 

Tyrion nodded. "True as that may be, I do think you'll like to hear this, sister."

Cersei rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested in anything he has to say.” She huffed, turning on her heels and marching away as cavalierly as her swollen ankles would allow. 

Inside, she was fuming. _How dare he involve that little troll._ _What has he told him? _

* * *

Not long after, Robert called everyone to take their places at the long table.

Cersei, from her seat next to Robert, could see her brothers at the other end of the table. They sat together, whispering of something that seemed rather serious to Tyrion. It was hard to make out Jaime’s expression by the way he was turned. 

The whole ordeal was a dull affair, and Cersei was unimpressed with the company; all of them men who paid her their respects and promptly went back to ignoring her. It was a dreadfully familiar scenario. Had she not been so bloody uncomfortable with her swollen ankles and her sore back, Cersei may have raised a bit of mischief. She liked to see just how hypocritical she could expose them to be. Other times, she would see how demeaning she could get them to act toward her. It was a game of sorts. They all seemed to participate readily - though none of them actually knew she was toying with them - and it would make the evenings tremendously more entertaining. Jaime used to find it amusing, himself. She would lay on her back, sprawled on his bed after a party, her head in his lap as he stroked her hair, brushing her braids out with his fingers, and they’d laugh at all of the exceedingly repugnant men that surrounded them; the ones that, every day, they were fooling. The whole regency of Westeros was a sham and the twins took great delight in it, feeling syrupy as they kissed between jests, submerging themselves once more into the depths of the dark humour they’d practically been weaned on. But alas, tonight, Cersei stared at her plate and wished it would be over soon.

After a shorter than normal meal for Robert, and noticeably much less ale than usual, the man set down his silverware. 

“All right. Let’s quit playing court.” He sucked his teeth, running his tongue across them and Cersei tried not to grimace at his vileness. 

“We’ve got a fucking slaughter going on down South and it’s making a mountain of a bloody mole hill. People are laughing at me, my own _brothers_ unable to defend my _home. _

Cersei glanced at Renly who was looking down at his plate. She almost felt sorry for the lad, such a disgusting lumbering drunk of an older brother to look up to. Then, she supposed, she knew what it was like to be disappointed in your brothers. Were she in Renly’s place, young though he was, she’d have found a way to snuff out the rebellions long ago. She was sure that, had she been given the opportunity, even at Renly’s tender age she’d have been a better commander than Robert or Stannis. 

“We’ve spoken about this at some length during council meetings, but I wanted everyone here together for this.” Robert continued. 

Cersei looked over at her husband now. He was actually about to say something of import for once. 

“We’ll be sending a five hundred men to the Stormlands.” 

Cersei smirked. She could’ve told him to do that ages ago. 

“Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard has volunteered to lead our forces on the journey and aid in command once stationed.” 

Cersei nearly choked on her breath. _Volunteered?_

She gripped her goblet tightly, refusing to look at her brother. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking she cared. 

Cersei had never felt more rage toward Jaime in all her life. He _knew_ she would be giving birth soon. Had he really chosen to leave her _now _of all times?

She declined to acknowledge the fact that she’d outright told him to leave. She hadn’t meant it, and he’d known that, surely, and he'd said he wouldn't. Though they couldn’t be together, it didn’t mean they couldn’t _be together. _Even Jaime could understand that, the fool. 

How was she supposed to manage everything without him? Had he thought of her at all?

_The selfish fucking imbecile. _She fumed to herself, unable to hear another word Robert was saying. Jaime had _chosen_ to leave her. He'd _chosen _to. He was as useless to her as Tyrion now. She _hated_ him. She _hated _him. She _hated_ him. She fought harder than ever before to keep the hot tears that threatened to flood from her eyes back. 

* * *

Jaime watched his sister from his end of the table. She looked everywhere but at him. He knew she must be seething that she’d not been informed on the matter. He’d tried to talk to her. All he wished for was her to give him a reason to stay. He wished he could have asked her. Had she said no, had she even just _thought_ about it, he would never have left. But as it were, it seemed like distance might be the best thing for them. Cersei barely acknowledged his presence, and it was far too painful a charade to pretend there was nothing between them. He either needed her to need him or he needed to leave. He couldn’t keep this up, the constant scorn and rejection of his very presence by his other half. He was shredded, ripped apart, half a person. She’d wounded him worse than any man with a sword ever could. 

He needed time away. And it wasn’t forever, just for now. He thought the timing was actually quite convenient. He wouldn’t be around for the birth of her child… Robert’s child, and in that way, perhaps she would have what she wanted; peace. She wouldn’t have to think of him. She could focus on her child and her rubbish husband_, _and on being Queen. It would surely be best for both of them. She didn’t want him any longer. 

That night, after Jaime had readied his armour in preparation for the ride to the Stormlands, he went to visit Tyrion. 

His little brother was always full of wise words and categorically good advice. Most of which, to Jaime’s detriment, he refused to heed, often in favour of following his own desires instead. But Jaime was not looking for advice tonight. 

Tyrion poured Jaime a cup of wine, and Jaime swigged from it readily, wishing for nothing more than to numb the searing pain he felt inside. 

“Listen, Jaime.” Tyrion said, reclining in his leather armchair. “You’re going to be a hero for all the realm.” Tyrion offered his cup up in a toast. “Don’t be so nervous. _What would father think?” _Tyrion smirked at Jaime then, and Jaime let out a sigh. Sarcasm. Tyrion was so practiced at it that Jaime could hardly tell the difference at times. 

Tyrion understood why Jaime had doubts about leaving, though the two had never actually had the conversation. And each time Jaime went off to battle, Tyrion understood the scope of it. He understood that any little fight could be the end. Tyrion just _understood. _He always understood. Jaime often felt inferior. Between his brother and his sister, he was clearly the one that struggled most intellectually. He hadn’t their sharpness, their biting wit. But Tyrion (and perhaps Cersei as well, though she would never say it outright) always looked up to Jaime for his physical prowess, something Jaime took great pride in. And in this way, with one looking to another, Jaime felt as though they were equals. He had great trust in his brother, and he was thankful for it. 

Jaime mustered a small smile for his Tyrion. “I haven’t had nerves going into a battle for a while.” 

Tyrion raised his brow. “Not even … that whole Mountain debacle?” 

Jaime took another swig of wine and shook his head. “Not nerves so much as … I bloody hate the bastard. The challenge of it, too, I suppose.” 

Tyrion chuckled and nodded, getting serious after another gulp from his cup. “You will be alright, though.” It was as though he were imploring the Gods to make it so. 

Jaime shrugged. 

“No.” Tyrion said. “You will be.” 

Jaime cleared his throat. “I am better than all of those idiots down Storm’s End. But things happen. I’ve seen them happen to knights better than I, even.” 

Tyrion shook his head. 

“Just - If I’m not alright,” Jaime began, “If things … happen… I need you to promise that you’ll watch out for her.” 

Jaime didn’t need to say her name. In fact, Tyrion preferred if he didn’t.  He looked at his Jaime for a long moment before huffing, “She hates me more than she hates her husband.”

Jaime inhaled deeply. “I need you to promise me. Even if it's just something that happens before I'm back.” 

Tyrion groaned. 

“I wouldn’t ask if I weren't desperate.” Jaime said quietly.

Jaime ignored the thought that his death might hurt her more than Robert or father or anything else ever could. It was how he’d always felt, and he’d assumed she’d felt the same. But she didn’t seem to feel that way of late, and he genuinely hoped that, if he were to die, that would be the case; that she would turn her lovely nose up at him, forgetting everything they ever were. He hoped she would be happy, and he wanted Tyrion there to help reassure him; to help him feel like this might all be worth something. 

“She’s going to hate you for leaving. You do know that.” Tyrion said, trying to gauge his brother’s reaction, trying to figure out where this was all coming from. 

Jaime set his empty cup down on the table between them. “She doesn’t want me here.” 

Tyrion sucked his teeth. “Oh, brother. Truly? You _truly_ believe that? You’ve spent your whole life with her, don’t you know her at all?”

Jaime shook his head. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to think there was a possibility that Cersei wanted him to stay, because he’d already committed to leaving. She wouldn't speak to him. Knowing that she still wanted him would make everything far more painful, and Jaime could hardly imagine bearing more pain than he did as it were. 

“Please… just promise me.” He said woefully. 

Tyrion nodded. He would do it for his brother. Perhaps he’d even do it for his sister. Deep down, he didn’t want to see her hurt much either, despite how much she’d love to see _him_ flayed alive.

"And if anything should happen to _her_-" Jaime hated to think of it, but the closer she came to giving birth, the more he thought of their mother, how she'd died. He didn't want to bring it up with Tyrion, of all people, but he had to. He hadn't anyone else trustworthy enough. 

Tyrion looked at Jaime, a pained expression on his face. 

"Just make sure she knows I ..." 

"I will." Tyrion nodded again.

"-So much." Jaime sighed in some sort of relief, glad his brother had interrupted. 

"I know." Tyrion assured him. "I will." His voice had softened as he saw the tears in Jaime's eyes. 

"And that I wanted to be there and that I'll see her soon, no matter what."

Tyrion wasn't fully sure what Jaime meant by that last part, but he could guess.

Jaime hadn't a doubt in his mind. He carried the thought with him wherever he went. Without Cersei there was nothing for him. If she died, he would go with her.

Jaime knelt before his brother’s chair. “Thank you.” He whispered, wiping roughly at his eyes. He’d never thanked anyone more sincerely in all his life. 


	14. Flushed

Jaime had been set to leave for Storm's End. He walked through the halls early in the morning, on his way to the courtyard to join the rest of the troops.

He held his head high and trailed his hand along the wall. Might it be the last time he'd see his home? He thought this every time he left King's Landing, and every time he left The Rock, and every time he left Cersei. He'd never let on to anyone that he thought those things, but he thought them all the same, silently, to himself. Though he was sure he would return. They would not end this way. 

He turned a corner, and thought perhaps he should see Cersei before he makes his leave. The idea was tempting, but he doubted she'd want that. He didn't want to upset her even further before he left.

Just as he turned the final corner, he heard a voice. "Jaime." It said, quietly.

Jaime snapped back to reality. _Cersei_. 

He stood, almost at attention, waiting for her to make a move. He was at her mercy. 

“You're leaving me?” She asked. Her voice was calm, but there was such tension in the air you could cut it with a knife. 

That was it. She didn’t want him to. Gods, why was she so bloody stubborn? If she’d just spoken to him. If she’d just _listened_…

“I thought you wanted me to.” He said, hardly moving his mouth. 

Cersei fought back tears. She wore her night dress still, a sea foam green garment made of lace and silk. Her hair was unbraided as of yet and she held her hand over her belly. 

“You’re going to leave me like _this?_” She asked, incredulous. 

“Cersei, I thought it was what you _wanted_. If you’d have _listened_ to me, I would have asked-“

“Don’t blame this on me! Don’t blame this on me like you do everything else! It’s not my fault! I’m not the one who bloody _volunteered _you to go fight for those savages. I’m not the one who decided it would be a good idea to joust with a man twice my size. But here I am, suffering the consequences of those things all the same. We are one in the same, aren’t we?” 

Jaime hung his head. She wasn’t wrong. He’d not made the best decisions of late, and he supposed he’d made them rather brashly, but that was how he made all his decisions - his best and his worst. 

“I thought it would be good… given what you said… to have some time apart.” 

“You _want_ to leave then” She stated. 

“No.” He shot back immediately. He stepped toward her, reached an arm out for her, but she pushed it away. 

“Stop.” She spat, viciously. 

“You told me to go to Casterly!” He shouted, his voice echoing through the halls. 

She swallowed hard. She had told him that. She’d said that, but she hadn’t meant it as a request. She’d wanted to see if he’d actually do it.

“I wanted to see if you’d go.” Her voice was quieter. 

Jaime bit his cheek. “And when I didn’t? When I passed your little test? Then you chose to ignore me?”

A tear fell from Cersei’s eye and Jaime’s expression softened. It was so difficult to be upset with her when she cried. 

“Everyone leaves, Jaime. _Everyone_. It’s just a matter of time.” 

“I’m not _leaving_.” Jaime huffed, his voice gravelly. 

“You are leaving.” She hissed. “You’ve _chosen _to.” 

“I’m_ going._” Jaime hissed straight back. “I’m _going _because I thought you wanted time to focus on you and the child, and because I thought the sight of me made you ill. I thought you wanted me to leave, so I chose to _go_ because I want to grant you your will, always. I want you to have everything you desire, Cersei, so I chose to _go. _But I am coming back. I am coming back as soon as I can because I did not choose to _leave._ I could never _leave_. No matter how many times you ask it, or command it, or bloody scream at me to, I could never _leave_. That is the one thing I will not grant you.”

Jaime was breathing heavily now, frustrated that Cersei thought he would ever leave her. 

She stood silently for a moment, looking down at the bump of her belly. 

The trumpets sounded in the courtyard. It was time for Jaime to _go._

Cersei looked up at him and Jaime spared not another breath. He pressed her back against the wall, his body flush against hers. He could feel the child stirring in her belly. He took her face in his hands and brought his forehead to hers. 

“Do you know I love you?” He barked, his voice nearly breaking.

They could hear the last of the men making their way down the hall; footsteps like their heartbeats, thrumming raucously in the stone tunnels. 

Cersei looked up at him, eyes glimmering with tears she could not control. 

“Do you?” He demanded.

Cersei gave him a nod. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” He shot back almost immediately as the footsteps drew closer. 

Cersei did not answer him this time, and Jaime knew that even if she said yes, the answer was no. How could she possibly know what he felt for her?

She had him wrapped around her finger… all her fingers. And her toes, and tangled up in her hair, and caught in her teeth and scraped under her nails and … he was torn into a million pieces and scattered all about her. He always had been and he always would be. 

_I love you. _He almost laughed at the words. They were so utterly inadequate at describing his true feelings for her. The words seemed to restrict the way he felt. How could words describe the way his chest ached like his ribs would break apart, the way his skin seemed to want to jump from his body and stitch itself with hers? How could words describe the way he wished for her to swallow him up, their bodies melding together into a single golden being, veins and arteries and capillaries forming one network so intricately wound that it would be sure death for them to pull apart. Their blood would intermix as Jaime was sure it once had, before either of them were forced into this agonizing existence. Their muscles would join together, their tendons, their bones. Four emerald eyes would become two. Their lungs would grow together and finally, he imagined, would be able to breathe without the sickening burden of separation weighing upon them, clogging them as though filled with mud. They would finally be free.

_Gods, how could he tell her that?_

He hadn’t the time, he hadn't the words. They did not exist. Instead, he took her delicate face in his hands and wiped at the tears with his thumbs before pressing his lips to hers for a deep, frantic kiss, that he hoped would get the point across. Jaime had always been a man of action, rather than words, and Cersei knew this. 

He kissed her with everything he had, and she parted her lips for him so that their tongues could join together, the shared warmth between them promising to be enough to warm Jaime through the long journey ahead of him. 

He pulled away roughly, and his sister gasped at the loss of him. Jaime was sorry for it, so incredibly sorry. He was sorry for all of it. He wished he could pick her up and carry her to bed, so they could join themselves yet again. Grant themselves some of that blissful relief that only their coupling brought. He could show her over and over how much he loved her then, how he cared for her, how he would never leave - he would never leave her. Never. 

Instead, he searched her eyes desperately, praying to the Gods that she understood. 

They could hear voices now, and knew they needed to part quickly. 

Cersei wiped her eyes, and offered Jaime one single nod. An acknowledgement that she understood. 

He let his breath out in a sputter, not having even realised he’d been holding it. And he reached down and took her hand in his, squeezing it. “I’ll see you soon.” He huffed, fighting back tears of his own; tears of relief and longing. 

He tore himself away from her and felt the pain of it immediately in his chest. It knocked the breath out of him. 

Cersei, meanwhile, ducked into an empty chamber just as the soldiers passed through. She let herself fall into a chair and pulled her knees up against her belly, biting her lip to stop herself sobbing, but she knew even as she attempted it that it was futile. So she sobbed, relief and longing, same as her brother. 


End file.
